


Weight Of A Hummingbird

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Eating Disorders, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Pete Wentz, Rape Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a boy for fuck's sake-- stuff like... that-- it only happened to girls. He was supposed to be strong and fight back, like a man. That's what he was always taught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. he doesn't look a thing like jesus

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this to do something most don't-- show the affects of assualt and rape. Most stories have the survivor immediately being okay and falling in love, etc. when that is not how it really goes at all.

He's going to do it-- THE it, all the way-- at the age of 17. He's at some college party, getting wasted and wow, is it satisfying when a college dude hits on him. He feels a surge of pride for himself-- Joe had bet that he couldn't go and have fun at a party, but look at him now! The tall guy gives him a grin and leans against the wall next to Patrick, purrs out, "What's your name, cutie?" Patrick stutters out his name, face flushed red, smile shy and small. They continue the small talk and eventually the man nods his head towards the hall, and Patrick drukenly stumbles along.

The man is smiling and when they kiss in the dark hall, and it seems okay. When he grips Patrick's belt, the blonde pushes him away and shakes his head. The man nods and they walk back into the main room. The taller of the two shoves a cup into his hand and tips it, and Patrick chugs it. They dance together until Patrick finally grumbles, "Feel gross..." and the other smiles and offers Patrick a ride home. Patrick shakily grips his backpack (he needed somewhere to shove his phone and the alcohol he got from Joe to present at the party). The college guy wraps his arm around Patrick's waist and drags his limp body along with him, and somewhere along the way the 17 year old's vision dissolves into inky black.

When he wakes up the man is on top of him, holding his wrists down. The party is downstairs, people screaming and music blasting. Patrick's body feels heavy, like someone cut him open and filled him with sand, and he weakly pulls at the man's grip, mouth open in a silent wail. The man's hold loosens and Patrick frees his wrists, feebly beating at his chest and takes a deep breath, about to scream, when the other slaps him, and holds a hand over his mouth. He feels like he can't breath, and he's not sure if it's the man cutting off his air or what was in his drink. Patrick finally feels his limbs get fuzzier, too weak to continue thrashing, and he goes limp, eyes blanky staring at the ceiling as the man yanks his pants down and thrusts into him. It's like a hot spike being stabbed into him and then getting jerked, mixed with a wet sensation that is most likely blood pooling down his cold skin, and his eyes fill with tears as he stares into space, praying for it to end soon. Patrick's limp body slides up and down the dirty bed sheets and everything aches, and he dimly wonders if he's going to pass out. The blonde clenches his eyes shut finally, letting out a choked sob as the man lifts his hand from Patrick's mouth. It's like the wind has been punched out of him as the man pulls away. 

Everything is fuzzy around the edges, gray and empty. His ears are ringing and the part downstairs sounds fuzzy and far away. He opens his eyes again, staring at the white ceiling with a blank expression. He can hear the man shuffling around him, shucking on clothes and grabbing his shoes. Patrick simply lets out another shaky gasp, his heart pounding like he ran a marathon. The man walks away from the messy bed, reaching the door, and he pauses, silence filling the air. "If it makes you feel better, kid,"-- and Patrick screams inside, 'NOTHING can make this better!'-- he can hear the smugness in the college boy's voice, "you weren't bad, for a virgin." Patrick hears the door unlock and the man stride out, no hesitation, as if he hadn't just torn somebody's very being apart.

Patrick forces himself up, face still blank, and pulls on clothes. He limps to the bathroom and peers into the mirror, cringing as he sees a stranger staring back. His face is flushed, right cheek swollen slightly, covered in a dark bruise and lips split. There are also bruises on his wrists and a red mark over his mouth where the man pushed his hand down to muffle the screams. He brings his hand up, fingers lightly brushing the dark bruise, and stares at the stranger in the mirror.

He didn't even know the man's name.

Patrick shakily pulls himself away, hand gripping at the wall as he drags himself to the door. He looks back at the bed and gags when he sees blood-- HIS blood-- on the tan sheets. The blonde rips the sheets off and wads them up, shoving them into his discarded backpack that leans against the wall, thrown to the side. He throws the door open and walks out, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to stay calm. He nearly trips going down the stairs and quickly dashes to the house's back door, trying to avoid everyone. If anyone notices him, they say nothing. He walks around the dark corners of the house, heart pounding with fear, hoping the man is not lurking in the shadows. He stands at the side of the house, a little behind where the street lamps light the front yard, and in the darkness he fumbles with his phone as he pulls it from his pocket. He dials a number and holds his breath, hoping he gets lucky. There's a clicking noise, then another voice on the other end. "Patrick? Dude... what the fuck? It's like, 3 AM." The blonde lets out a breath of relief at Joe's voice. He clears his throat and chokes out, "H-Hey, can you--uh... can you come get me? It's kind of serious?" and Joe immediatley hears the shaken tone of his friend's voice and softly responds, "Of course, man. Where you at?" 

When Joe arrives, he glances at the other boy and feels guilt stab his heart-- Patrick was always a good kid, and Joe had teased him until he agreed to go to a party. Now the other looked fucking terrible and sick. When Patrick gets into the passenger seat, it's silent. "Hey... you okay?" Joe gently asks, placing a hand on Patrick's knee. Patrick pulls away from his touch, wrapping his arms around himself and leaning towards the window, forehead pressed against the cool glass. "'M fine. Thanks for coming." And Joe knows when he's fighting a losing battle, so he shuts up and stares ahead st the dark road. They drive in silence, and when they get to Patrick's house the boy throws the car door open and hops out, turning to say, "Thanks. See you later." before quickly shuffling away. Joe watches with a pained look, wondering who beat up his sweet, kind friend.

When Patrick gets inside, he runs to the bathroom and vomits. He rests his head on the toilet seat and sobs, hands clawing at his hair.  
It sickens him to think some faceless man who's name he does not know can remember how Patrick feels inside. How he looks underneath another person. How he looks crying and screaming-- in absolute agony. Patrick can't remember his face. He vomits again, sobbing. Patrick pulls his torn, dirty clothes off, and steps into the shower, tears streaming down his face. 

He scrubs and scrubs until his skin is red and raw, but he still feels dirty.


	2. not sure if it matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems like Pete is overreacting-- I'm going from personal experience, and I myself am used to fussing over my friends and being worried whenever ANYTHING happens to them.

The next day he feels empty and sick still, body burning all over, the house quiet and it only makes the ringing in his ears worse. He picks up his phone and sees 5 texts, from his mom, Joe and Pete. He chooses to ignore it for now, going to the bathroom and staring into the mirror, bile rising in his throat. The bruises are dark on his pale skin, bags beginning under his eyes from a fitful sleep. Patrick simply brushes his teeth, takes asprin and returns to his room, falling asleep again. When he wakes, it's around 8 AM, Sunday morning. He feels shock rise inside of him-- he slept two whole days, practically, only waking up a few times due to nightmares plaguing him. He unlocks his phone and checks his texts, opening his mom's first, concerned about her arrival from her small trip.

Mom: Flight delayed-- be back in 2 days. Love you.

Patrick smiles softly, responding to her as he normally would.

Patrick: Okay! Love you too.

Next he decides to check Joe's texts, and his pulse flutters as his finger hovers over the notification. He hopes Joe doesn't ask any questions about last night. He shivers and digs his nails into his palm, cringing at the thought of... It.

Joe: Yo, you okay?? you seemed beat up or something man

Patrick shakes his head, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as he responds:

Patrick: I'm good, thanks for picking me up.

Finally, Pete. Patrick sighs-- he really doesn't want to deal with Pete's newest heartbreak, not when he feels like a stranger in his own skin.

Pete: joe said u were hurt last nite when he got u  
Pete: r u okay??  
Pete: i can beat someone up for you if you need

Patrick actually lets out a quiet chuckle, heart warming at his best friend's concern. 

Patrick: I'm okay, Pete. Promise. No beating up anyone, okay?

Pete immediately responds, of course.

Pete: r u sure?? joe said there was blood and everythng and im rlly worried especially bc u didnt answer  
Pete: u can always talk to me rickster, were best friends  
Patrick: I know, Pete. Thank you. :)  
Pete: can we hang out today? i wnt to check on u myself with my own two eyes  
Patrick: I'm not sure, I'm not feeling too good... Maybe tomorrow?  
Pete: ur a bad liar. im coming over, b ready in 10.  
Patrick: Pete, I am serious.  
Pete: mhm sure, get dolled up for me  
Patrick: Go fuck yourself.  
Pete: ok ok easy trick, but ill b there in a few  
Patrick: Ugh, fine.

Patrick lets out a frustrated sigh, dropping his phone back onto the kitchen table. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at it a bit. Pete always asked too many questions and never gave up until he got answers. The blonde felt fear, icy cold in his chest. He couldn't tell Pete-- the other would probably laugh! He was a boy for fuck's sake-- stuff like... that-- it only happened to girls. He was supposed to be strong and fight back, like a man. And he wasn't sure if it even counted as rape-- he was drunk and made out with the guy. He initiated it. He never technically said no. 

The young man sighed, rubbing his temples. The police wouldn't believe him either, they would probably laugh too, or tell him that he shouldn't have been drunk in the first place, that this should have been expected.  
'Do I deserve this?' Patrick wondered, head pounding. 'Is this what I get for being so foolish?' 

His mother always told him to stay away from parties and illegal activities. She always told him bad things come from it, and he went off and did the exact opposite of what she had said. If he just would've listened, then this wouldn't have happened.

Patrick let out another shaky breath, plopping down into a chair at the dining table. 'You're so stupid-- You're so fucking dumb!' his mind screamed, and he let out a soft sob. "So, so stupid..." he mumbled, eyes burning. 

Finally the boy stood up, panic gripping his chest. What did he tell Pete? Did he lie and say he got in a fight? He fell down the stairs? Patrick began pacing, fingers once again pulling at his coppery-blonde hair. He could just say some college guy got too cocky and picked a fight-- Pete would believe that, after all he was usually the cocky asshole who got into fights. 

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. And, as soon as the ring ended, Pete was banging on the door like an asshole. "One second Pete! You're being fucking obnoxious!" Patrick shouts, storming out the kitchen and to the door, throwing it open. Pete is standing there, a sheepish smile on his tan face. Patrick sighs, and Pete throws his arms out and grabs Patrick, pulling him into a tight hug. Panic sets in and the shorter boy starts to push at Pete's chest, breathing picking up. Pete quickly pulls away, hands on Patrick's shoulders. "Woah, woah! Calm down, 'Trick. Breathe." Patrick lets out a shaky gasp and nods, looking away swiftly. He wants to sink into the ground forever at this point. He feels like such a dick for being scared of his best friend! Pete would never do that to anyone. "S-Sorry, man, I just--" Pete brushes past him and into the house, simply stating, "Explain inside."

Patrick slams the door, following his best friend, and strides to the kitchen, stopping in front of the fridge. "Do you want anything to drink?"  
"What's up with you?" Pete asks, voice sharp, and Patrick flinches, not looking at Pete still, and calmly responds, "Nothing. Just a little on edge."  
"What happened at the party that's got you so freaked?"  
"Some college guy, he uh-- he got kinda douchey? And I yelled at him, so he tried to pick a fight." He can hear Pete's snort of disbelief, and he freezes. "What, Pete?"  
"You are such a shitty liar, you know that?"  
Patrick slams the fridge door closed, and spins around, anger burning in his chest. "I'm not lying, Pete. Why would I lie?"  
"You tell me-- why are you lying? I'm just worried, 'Trick, Joe said you were hurt really bad. He said you seemed really freaked out. And you ignored both of us yesterday!" Patrick grits his teeth and resists the urge to give Pete a black eye. "Not all of us are fucking liars like you, Pete. I'm fine, just some dumb fight. And I was tired and slept yesterday, okay?"  
Pete growls, standing up and storming towards Patrick. The blonde steps backward, eyes flashing with fear. "What the hell is your problem? You wouldn't let me hug you, you keep--keep lying to me!" Pete's tone saddens, and his eyes close, and suddenly he sounds so tired, "We're supposed to be best friends."  
"Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I told you, it was a fight. If you came here to start a fight because you're mad at your girlfriend, then fucking LEAVE!" The room goes dead silent, and Patrick feels guilt heavy in his heart. Pete is staring at him, wide-eyed and silent. Pete always needs reassurance people want him around-- sometimes he fights just to ignore his problems. And Patrick just pulled a dick move. Instead of storming out, Pete takes a step closer, softly saying, "I'm just worried, you know how I get."  
"I know. But I'm telling you the truth-- it was a small fight, I got drunk, Joe picked me up." Pete reaches a hand out and gently rests it on Patrick's cheek, fingers caressing the bruises there. Patrick forces himself to stay still, to not flinch away from the touch. All he can seem to think of is the man hitting him, the sharp, shocking pain-- "He really did a number on you, huh?" Pete gives a small grin, a loud laugh escaping his mouth. Patrick forces a smile back, "Yeah. Sure did."  
"Who was it? Should I beat him up?"  
Patrick freezes, once again feeling angry at himself. He should have asked the man's name or gotten to know him before he decided to run off with him, maybe then he wouldn't have been--  
"'Trick?" Patrick lets out the breath he was holding. "Yeah?" he responds weakly, meeting Pete's eyes finally. "I'll kick his ass if you remember who did it, okay?" and his tattoed friend gives a big grin, and for a second it's as if they're just hanging out like normal. It's like nothing changed. 'But it will change, if you tell him. He won't want to be friends with some weak idiot who couldn't even fight back.' Patrick smiled back, letting out a laugh. "Thanks, Pete. I gotta go to the bathroom, why don't you pick out a movie or something?"

Patrick stumbled to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing his face. He couldn't tell Pete. He couldn't drag Pete down like that-- Pete was already suffering enough without Patrick whining and playing the victim. Pete already struggled with depression and his bipolar disorder-- he couldn't help it. Pete could not be blamed for how he felt. Patrick on the other hand? He did this to himself, if he would have just been smarter, then this wouldn't have happened. Patrick felt sickened by himself, as he glanced into the mirror. He made himself the victim. This was his fault, not Pete's, which is why he had to keep quiet. Pete shouldn't have to suffer with some broken excuse for a best friend to worry about too.

When he returned to the living room, Pete was sitting on the sofa, staring down at his phone. "Pete? Movie?"  
"You would tell me if you like... hooked up with someone or whatever, right?" Patrick's chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath, "What?"  
"Well, I was trying to figure out who beat you up by asking some girls who were at the party... they said you never got in a fight." Patricks breathing becomes more uneven, his fingers picking at the frayed ends of his shirt. "Maybe they didn't see it? It wasn't a big deal or anything--"  
"They said you went upstairs with some guy." Patrick cringes, ears beginning to ring. He remembers the man's arm around his waist, whispering, "I'll take you home", voice hissing like a snake--  
"Yeah, he was helping me find my backpack, dude. We don't all sleep around." Pete's head jerks up and he glares at Patrick. "No need to be such a dick, I was just asking. You know I love hearing party sex stories." Patrick sighs, his mind a screaming mess. He needs to act normal or Pete will catch on. "Sorry, man. I'm just mad I got beat up at my first party." Pete seems to relax again, a smile on his face. "Only you would, Stump." Pete glances at his phone, before standing up and stretching. "I should get going, I have to be home or else my mom will kick my ass for skipping out on dinner." Patrick nods, relief washing over him. He loves Pete, but he was getting way too close to finding out. "See ya, Lunchbox." Pete says cheerfully, pulling Patrick into a hug. Patrick's arms hang limply at his sides, and when his friend pulls away, he looks a little confused. Patrick just smiles and says, "Bye, Pete."


	3. living too fast to fall asleep

As soon as Pete leaves, Patrick slumps onto the sofa, sick to his stomach. Now people think he's hooking up with guys at parties. He lets out a loud whine, hands pulling at his hair again. He really fucked up this time. 'C'mon, Patrick, keep it together.' Patrick pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around then, resting his head on his knees. He stared ahead, mind whirling. "What do I do?" he whispered quietly, closing his eyes, "Why did I have to be so dumb?" His body aches and burns, a reminder of the party. He pulls himself to his feet, staggering to the bathroom. He rumaged through the medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of asprin. He poured out a couple, maybe 5, and took them all, grimacing. Maybe if he took enough, it would all be numb. No pain to remind him of his mistake. The blonde shook his head, disappointment filling him. 'First I get myself all-- all messed up... now I'm trying to kill myself? How selfish can I be?' His phone went off, making him jerk away from his thoughts. 

Pete: hey do u wanna hang w me and joe tmrrow  
Patrick: Can't. Mom might be home.

Not a complete lie, he supposes.

Pete: ill miss u tmmrow then <3  
Pete: dont get urself beat up more pattycakes lmao 

With that, he left the bathroom, heading to his room. He stopped at the base of the stairs, heart clenching painfully-- "They saw you go upstairs with a guy..."  
"I'll take you home..."  
The boy dashes to the bathroom, vomiting again. He curls up on the bathroom floor, eyes watering. Everything makes him think about it. Everything reminds him of how he's changed. 

This time he closes his eyes as he grips the banister, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Once he reaches his room, he flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, the gray ceiling so much like the one he stared at over the man's shoulder in that bedroom upstairs. He closes his eyes and wills the noise in his head to quiet. 

When he wakes up, it's 2 AM. The nightmare seemed to wake him at a perfect time-- it happened around this time. He sits up, pushing his hair out of his face. Patrick stood up off the bed, rubbing his eyes. He doesn't want to go back to sleep again. Anything to avoid the dreams, the reliving of it, over and over and over. He drinks a large mug of coffee and stares blankly at the TV until it's light outside. It's 7:00 AM, and he still can't stop thinking about the nightmare. The vivid feeling of being held down-- the pain and fear. It's like there's no escape, even if he sleeps. 'Maybe this is what I get,' Patrick wonders, fingers tapping quickly, nervously, 'maybe this is punishment for being so stupid. A reminder of how bad I fucked up.' 

His mom comes home today, and he dreads it. Unlike Pete, Patricia Stumph does not give up, ever, especially with things concerning her son. And if his mom finds out... she'll be so disappointed. She left him alone one week and he went to a party and left with trauma. She'll be pissed. And then she might tell the rest of the family, too. He feels sick, throat tightening from panic. Patrick sighs and comes to terms with his fate, pulling out some old pasta and heating it up. He checks his phone, heart jumping in his throat when he notices a text from Hayn, a girl who was more of Pete's friend/groupie then anything.

Hayn: Is it true that you hooked up w/ with some college guy? Then took the sheet as a momento?  
Patrick: No, it's not true. Sorry.  
Hayn: Well, that's a bummer, man. I was gonna say, good job getting a college dude, Stump. ;)

Now he isn't sure what's worse-- being called a slut or a weakling. Neither make his stomach churn any less, at this point. Appetite gone, Patrick empties his plate into the garbage. He feels tired. So very tired, tired of the lying, tired of the nightmares and fear. He wants to talk to someone about it, tell all the secrets that plague him and push on his brain. Just to relieve the pressure pushing on his heart and lungs, just to feel okay again.

Patrick's stomach aches, and he's not sure if it's from lack of food or his anxiety. Maybe both.

When his mom arrives in the afternoon, she smiles and hugs him tight, smile wide on her face. They sit at the kitchen table and talk about her trip, and it's like before everything happened. "Sweetie, what happened to your face?"  
"Oh, Joe accidentally whacked me with his guitar trying to spin again." Patricia chuckles and smiles, before asking, "Do anything fun while I was gone? You should make the most of your summer." Patrick gives a fake, tense smile and bullshits some story about hanging out with Pete and tries to block out the hum of memories, the flash of lights at the party that night. She stands, walking to the fridge, and peers in. "Have you eaten today?" The blonde nods his head, smiling, and his mother smiles back and begins to hum to herself, oblivious, pulling out some containers with yogurt to snack on.

At dinner hours later, after a long nap, he picks at his food, staring off into space. After about 10 minutes, he decides he isn't all that hungry and eats a tiny bit (to not worry his mother), then heads upstairs to lock himself in his room and listen to music. When he lays on the bed, Bowie's voice crooning from the speakers, he feels lost. Normally some nice music and relaxation would have helped, but now it just makes his head louder and lets his thoughts run wild. Patrick feels a spike of fear in his heart at the realization that what once comforted him now just tears his heart open more.

That night Patrick sits back, staring at the ceiling again, wishing for the memories to fade away into fuzzy warthm instead of stabbing his heart like shattered glass.


	4. the kids aren't alright

Pete: hey dude u ok  
Pete: usually we hang out a ton  
Pete: ur mom said shes worried 2  
Pete: pls answer trick im worried

Patrick groans and rolls over, reaching out for his glasses and sliding them on his face. He leaned over and peered at his phone, seeing the screen lit up with message notifications. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and so far he had spent the time holing up in his room, occasionally coming out to grab a snack or go to the bathroom. His mom hadn't noticed much of his odd behaviour as she was gone every day for work until later at night-- for once he was thankful she wasn't around. On the weekends she slept in, so Patrick made sure to leave his room while she was awake to convince her he was fine, but he could see the concern in her eyes occasionally.

Patrick: Pete? I'm fine, dude. Calm down.  
Pete: oh tnk fuck i was freaking out  
Pete: can i come over??  
Patrick: No, I'm busy.  
Pete: ur always busy lately  
Pete: r u mad at me? or joe?  
Patrick: No.  
Pete: im srry lunchbox pls dont b mad  
Patrick: I'm not mad, fuck. I'm just tired. Goodbye.  
Pete: im sorry, bye  
Pete: i love u trick

Patrick gulped, fingers hovering over the phone screen.

Patrick: I know. Love you too.

The blonde rubs his eyes, the tired feeling seeping into his bones. He groaned and forced himself to stand, pulling off his shirt to change. Patrick flinched as he saw the faint bruises on his torso, and quickly pulled a clean shirt on. He avoided looking at the bruises on his thighs and he pulled on some sweats. Two weeks. He hated that he still felt the phantom pain, still saw dark eyes watching him with a predatory gaze and felt sick whenever he looked at himself. He wanted to feel okay. Patrick felt guilt tug at his heart, thinking of all the different times he told Pete he couldn't hang out with their group or that he was busy. But it was for the best. The less Pete was around, the smaller the chance of him witnessing Patrick finally snapping and exploding.

Patrick thinks of Pete-- his kind smile and comforting hugs, never judging or pushing you when he knew the situation was serious. The blonde felt conflicted, though. Would Pete understand? Would he not believe Patrick? The teen picked his phone up again, hands trembling.

Patrick: Pete, can I ask you a question?  
Pete: of course!!  
Patrick: Can guys be sexually assaulted? I'm trying to prove a point to some asshole on the intetnet who says they can't.  
Pete: i love internet fights omg  
Pete: and duh  
Pete: no means no

Patrick wanted to punch himself. Even Pete said it, that it wasn't rape if he didn't say no. And technically he didn't...

Patrick: Yeah. Thanks.  
Pete: no prob man  
Pete: tell the dude ur arguing w/ thats hes a dumbass  
Patrick: You got it.  
Patrick: Pete? I can trust you with anything, right? You won't laugh?  
Pete: like i have any room 2 judge  
Pete: ive tried to kill myself like 5 times  
Patrick: Can you come over tomorrow? It's important.  
Pete: a little scared, but of course  
Pete: ill always come when u need me  
Patrick: Thank you.

Patrick sighed, flopping back onto his bed, tossing the phone somewhere at the foot of the bed. He felt like heaving from anxiety, and he wasn't sure if he would go through with telling Pete what happened. He trusted Pete with his life but...  
What if this ruined their friendship? What if Pete thought he was pathetic, or dirty?  
What if Pete thought he was lying?  
He couldn't handle Pete not liking him anymore-- Pete was one of his best friends. Pete was one of the few people who wanted him around.  
Patrick could feel his chest constricting, breathing bevoming difficult. He wheezed and gripped his head, tears pooling in his eyes. 'He'll hate you. What if he hates you? What will you do?' Patrick's hands trembled as he pushed himself up, reaching for his phone. 'Maybe he'll understand? But what if he doesn't?' He mistyped numerous times, his shaking hands making the task of typing difficult.

Patrick: cn u call me plese??  
Pete: are you okay??  
Pete: fuck im on it

Patrick let out a gasp of relief as the phone's screen displayed a picture of Pete's grinning face, and he immediately accepted the call. "P-Pete? I can't breathe-- I think... I think-- what do I do?" Patrick's breathing sped up more as his chest ached, and he used his free hand to grip his bed covers and twist them to ground himself as the room span. "Patrick? Shit, uh-- listen to me, okay?" The blonde nodded to himself, and Pete took the silence as an okay to continue. "Breathe with me, okay? In... and out. In and out. Can you do that?" Patrick let out a choked sob and whimpered out, "I-I th...ink? I'm so-orry for b... othering you." Patrick blubbered out, tears running down his face.  
"Okay, 'Trick. You're okay. Keep breathing."  
"'M sc-cared." He could hear Pete take a deep breath before he spoke, "I know, I know. Just keep breathing. Can you lie down?" Patrick leaned back onto the bed, his vision less blurred as his breathing slowed a little. "I'm laying down."  
"Okay. How do you feel?"  
"My chest h-hurts. I can breathe b...better."  
"Can you count down from 100 in your head? Take your time. I'll wait on the line."  
Patrick closed his eyes and counted, Pete's slow breaths on the phone calming him.

After a few minutes, Pete finally spoke again. "Are you okay?"  
"Y-Yeah, I think. I think so." He could hear Pete's sigh of relief, before he said, "Listen, Lunchbox, I gotta go downstairs and get dinner. Will you be okay on your own while I eat? I can call back after."  
"Yeah, yeah... Thank you, Pete. I appreciate it."  
"Of course, 'Trick. I'll talk to you later, if you want." Pete paused and a silence crept over them, the only sounds being Pete's soft breaths before he whispered, "Be safe, Patrick... I love you, okay?" Patrick's breath hitched, 'you won't love me when I tell you, will you?', "I love you too, Pete. Bye." Pete responded with a soft 'bye' before hanging up. The blonde felt empty inside, staring at the wall, comptemplating his options. He already told Pete he had something important to say, and Pete would not give up until he told him...

He could lie. Or he could tell the truth.  
At this point, he figured he had nothing to lose. If Pete hated him, it might be for the better. Then he wouldn't have to deal with the shitty excuse of a person Patrick had become. He would realize he could do better and find friends who weren't full of issues and pain. Maybe he would tell Joe, or his little groupies. Then everyone would know to stay away from Patrick Stump, walking disaster.

He would realize he could do better than Patrick for a best friend.


	5. till your world burns and crashes

Patrick: pete i think yuo shouldnt come today  
Pete: whats up?? are you okay?  
Patrick: im so ,rry  
Pete: dude what the hell  
Pete: im coming, be there in 5  
Patrick: pleae font.

Pete's heart clenched with panic. Patrick always had perfeft spelling and grammar, was always ready to talk. Lately, he acted more like Pete when he was hitting a low point, and that scared the tattooed boy. Last time he hit a low point, Patrick had to wrench a bottle of pills from him. Pete shook his head and grabbed his keys, shouting out, "Leaving to Patrick's!" before dashing outside to his car.

Pete knocked on the door angrily, before realizing Patrick wouldn't answer. He leaned down, lifting the dusty welcome mat, hand feelings around before he pulled out a slightly rusted house key. He quickly rushed into the house, panick setting in as he shouted, "'Trick? Patrick! Where are you?" He could faintly hear the shower running upstairs and stumbled up the stairs, reaching the bathroom door and banging on it, shouting for his friend. "Patrick, c'mon, let me in-- are you okay?" 

There was no response and Pete began banging on the door harder, before running downstairs, rummanging through the drawers. He grabbed a knife, and dashed upstairs again, deciding to take it into his own hands. He slid the knife into the side of the door, aggresively jerking it against the wood, eventually managing to loosen the lock so he could throw the door open. "Patrick!" he choked out, and he heard quiet sobs coming from the bath. The curtain was pulled close, and he grabbed it, hands shaking, pulling it to the side. He let out a choked gasp as he fell to his knees, reaching for his friend. Patrick was curled up in the bath under the shower spray, crying his eyes out, and Pete flinched back when he realized the water was ice cold. 'How long has he been in here?' the tanned boy wondered as he turned the shower off, reaching out for a towel to cover his friend with. "'Trick? Hey?" Pete murmured gently, brushing his wet blonde bangs from his eyes. Patrick was staring blanky ahead, tears running down his splotchy face, and he didn't acknowledge Pete as the tanned boy wrapped him in a towel, mumbling softly to him. Pete placed his hands under Patrick's arms and lifted him up, pulling him to his feet. The blonde swayed and Pete wrapped his arm around his best friend's waist to keep him upright. Patrick, feeling Pete's arm against him through the towel, closed his eyes and let out a blood curdling scream, pushing Pete away. The blonde slammed against the wall and slid down it, arms wrapped around himself as he pulled the towel tighter around himself, shaking violently.

Pete stood there, stunned, as his friend curled in on himself, clenching his eyes shut. Finally, Patrick opened his mouth and whispered, "Don't."  
"'Trick--"  
"Don't." Patrick snapped, harsher this time, voice slightly raised. Pete hesitated, before stating, "You need to get dressed. Please." Patrick nodded, averting his eyes from Pete, and he took that as his cue to exit the bathroom.

When Patrick finally exited the bathroom, he plodded down the stairs and locked eyes with Pete, who was sitting on the couch, staring. Patrick tugged his sweater sleeves down over his hands nervously, not meeting Pete's eyes any longer as he sat on the far side of the sofa Pete occupied. An awkward silence filled the space between them before Pete finally whispered, "Is it like my thing?" Pete had emotional breakdowns sometimes, and occasionally they left him so wrecked that he wouldn't shower for days and instead slept or laid awake, staring at the ceiling. Patrick shook his head briskly. His problem was nothing like that. His problem couldn't be fixed with pills or hugs-- his problem had rotted him to the core, making him nothing but a useless husk of who he once was. He was fractured beyond repair and no amount of pills could numb the shattered edges of his happiness cutting his soul. 

Pete reached a hand out slowly, and Patrick flinched as he rested it upon his own. Pete went to pull away, but Patrick quietly stated,"You don't have to leave." Pete nodded, eyes wide and filled with concern. "You don't have to talk about it. As much as I want you to, I won't force you." Pete murmured, thumb gently rubbing circles into the top of Patrick's hand. "I..." Patrick's voice cracked and he genuinely wished that the man would've crushed his windpipe at the party, would have ended it so he didn't have to witness his whole world fall apart. "I... want to." Patrick clenched his eyes shut, his pale eyelids highlighting the dull violet half moons under his eyes, like dark bruises on thighs and cheeks. Pete observed his friend, his eyes running over Patrick's frail form. He felt sick for not noticing-- for not checking on him. Patrick looked so small and pale, swaddled in a large sweater, his free hand that Pete was not holding gently picking at his jeans, eyes still closed. Thinking.

Finally, Patrick broke the silence once again. "I'm afraid." His voice cracked as he uttered that, and his eyes clenched tighter, holding back tears. Pete slowly scooched closer by a few inches, testing if the other ran again. Patrick did not react, left hand still picking at his frayed jeans. Pete continued, releasing Patrick's hand and moving until their legs gently brushed, and Patrick's eyes snapped open, and he turned to Pete, dull blue eyes lit with confusion. Pete simply reached around the boy and pulled him into his chest. Patrick tensed and was silent, breathing harsh and surprised. "I wish you didn't have to be afraid." Pete softly sighed, head resting on Patrick's."You know you can trust me." Pete buried his face into the wispy locks of hair, gripping Patrick a little tighter. "I just don't want you to hate me-- I thought I did but... I don't. You're all I have. I don't want you to leave or hate me. I would rather die." Patrick choked out, voice raspy and quiet in the silent room. "I would never leave." Pete responded, fiercely determined. 

Patrick took in a shaky breath, his small form trembling slightly. "Promise me you won't get mad. Promise me. Please."  
"I promise." Patrick pulled away from the hug, wiping his eyes and looking away. He let out a hollow laugh, choking out, "You know how I got beat up? At that party?" Pete nodded, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Did that dude threaten you or something?" Patrick quickly shook his head, wiping his eyes again. "God, I wish." His voice cracked, and he took in another shaky breath. "I wish it was that simple."


	6. i can't find you in the body sleeping next to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always been so much doubt, coming clean.  
> This is from personal experience-- telling big secrets can hurt.

"Did he do something to you?"  
Patrick took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He snapped his mouth shut, and shook his head violently. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."  
"Patrick--"  
"It's nothing, Pete." Pete stood up, eyes flashing dangerously, "The fuck it is-- don't act like this is nothing, like you can just ignore this--"  
"You mean exactly what you do?" Pete froze, eyes widening, and Patrick's face fell as he saw the pain in Pete's eyes. "I was trying to help, Patrick. It's not easy for me either, but I wanted to help." He stated quietly, eyes staring at the floor. "It's nothing Pete, just having a low point. Getting beat up like that--" teeth, fists, hitting clawing, wrists pinned to the mattress, screaming, screaming for anyone, someone, please "--it just really freaked me out, y'know?" Patrick's voice shook slightly, "I'm just scared of getting beat up by him again. Or by his friends. I don't want my name to be spread around and become the local punching bag. I don't want you to laugh." Pete's gaze softened, and he kneeled in front of Patrick, hand reaching up to brush the other's pale cheek. "I would never hate you for being scared, Patrick. You aren't weak and I would never laugh. That douchebag had no right to scare you and beat you up."

Patrick closed his eyes, leaning into Pete's touch. He wasn't technically lying-- he was afraid Pete would be disgusted by how weak he was. He was sure that even now, Pete was planning ways to avoid being friends with the chubby pale boy who couldn't fight back. "I should have fought back harder." Pete shook his head, lowering his voice, "He should have not beat up a fucking highschooler, Patrick." Patrick nods slowly, and Pete pulls away, standing again. "I want you to stay over at my house for, like, a week. I want to make sure you're okay."  
"Can't."  
"Wouldn't hurt to ask your mom-- I'll even call her. She likes me." Patrick winced and accepted defeat, sinking back into the sofa, rubbing his temples, as Pete opened his phone and dialed Patricia, getting ready to negotiate. He knows Pete will convince her, he always does. Pete is pretty charming, in a way, especially to parents. After about 10 minutes Pete shoves his phone into his pocket and announces, "Pack up!" with fake enthusiasm, worry still evident in his face.

When they arrive at Pete's house, the dark haired boy grabbed Patrick's stuff and carried it up to his room, and Patrick is left alone with Pete's mom. "Hello, Mrs. Wentz--"  
"Dale." She interjected happily, a warm smile on her face. "Dale. I hope you don't mind me staying over."  
"Of course not! I love having you around," she lowered her voice, leaning in closer, "you keep Pete grounded." Patrick gave a stiff smile in return and Pete dashed into the kitchen, grabbing Patrick's arm. "C'mon, Trick, let's go." As they run upstairs, Patrick turns and waves to Dale, and she lets out a chuckle.

Once they settle onto Pete's bed, music playing softly in the background, Prte softly states, "I was so worried, Patrick. So scared." Patrick cringes at his broken tone, guilt scratching away at his very being. "I'm sorry--"  
"Don't be." Pete scooches up to the headboard and leans against it, patting his chest. "Come lay with me? You look tired as hell." Patrick eyes his friend warily, before pulling off his shoes and crawling onto the bed. He scooched closer hesitantly until Pete grabbed his arm and tugged, pulling the smaller boy towards him. Patrick rested his head on Pete's chest, closing his eyes and listening to Pete's heartbeat. The fatigue finally catches up with him, and Patrick realizes how tired and weak he feels. He nuzzles into Pete's chest on impulse, slipping into sleep. Pete quietly murmurs to him, and there are lips pressed to his forehead before he drifts away.

He jerks awake, sweating, and it's pitch back outside. Pete's bright clock is glaring a bright red, the numbers burning his eyes. 2 AM. Pete was still holding on to him, sleeping like a rock-- though he was an insomniac, when he finally managed to get sleep, he slept hard. Patrick closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, but couldn't find slumber. Patrick rolled onto his back, and Pete quickly moved towards the heat source again, slinging his arm over Patrick's waist and wrapping his right leg around Patrick's. Pete let out a content sigh and nuzzled Patrick's neck, causing the other to smile gently. He brushed Pete's greasy bangs from his face and observed his best friend. He looked so calm asleep, so young and happy. Patrick wished he could find some escape from the waking hell he experienced now. He stared up at the ceiling, the room dark around him. The silence was deafening, and his head screamed, causing him to groan and shut his eyes. It was as if it was painted on the back of his eyelids, a vivid, tragic painting of what it felt like to be torn apart. He longed for silence.

Pete began to stir when the clock displayed 8 AM, and as Pete's eyes fluttered open, Patrick groaned and wiggled, playing it off as if he hadn't spent hours comptemplating his existence instead of sleeping. "G'mornin." Pete slurred, and he leaned up to plant a sloppy, wet kiss to Patrick's cheek. Patrick groaned again and pushed at the other gently, whining, "Your breath stinks, no." Pete grinned and sat up, stretching his arms over his head, before sliding off the bed and stalking into the bathroom. Patrick layed back still, eyes boring into the cracked ceiling of the room. He turned his head to the side and stared towards the open window, and for a second he wondered what would happen if he flung himself out of it, if his head would be silenced. Pete silently slipped into the room, startling Patrick as he sat on the bed next to the sprawled out boy. "You need to eat."  
"Not hungry."  
"Yeah, well, that sucks." Patrick sighed and rolled over, facing his friend. He felt disgusted with himself as he saw the disappointment in Pete's eyes. "Fine." The other's brown eyes lit up, and for a second Patrick felt a spark of happiness at seeing Pete's so childishly excited, but that spark was snuffed out as he thought about getting up. He wanted to lay here forever and just sink into the blankets, disappearing forever. Figuring this would not happen, especially not with Pete around, he let out an exaggerated sigh to piss Pete off, then got up to get dressed.

When the two stumbled downstairs, Mrs. Wentz beamed at them, flipping a pancake. "I was hoping you two would be up soon." Pete ran over and wrapped his arms around his mom's shoulders, kissing her cheek. "Thanks for breakfast, mom."  
"Yeah, thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Wentz..." Patrick softly added, sitting down at the table. "Of course, boys." She placed the plates in front of them and stacked 2 pancakes each on the plates, smiling kindly, before stating, "Syrup is where it always is. I'm meeting with Mrs. Corchina today-- don't burn the house down while I'm away, Pete."  
"Yes, ma'am!" Pete shouted, mock saluting, before returning to the task of tearing his food apart. Patrick stared down at his food and his stomach grumbled, and he reluctantly picked up his fork, trying to ignore the weariness in his bones and the longing to sleep forever. 

Mrs. Wentz left within 20 minutes, leaving the two boys alone. Pete smiled at Patrick and gestured to the TV, and they sat on the sofa together, Pete leaning into Patrick's side immediately. "Lunchbox?" Pete whispered tentatively, and Patrick's breath caught in his throat, "Yeah?"  
"I'm so worried about you, Patricia is too. Even my mom says you look awful." Patrick shrugged, and tried to ignore the dropping feeling in his stomach. "Are you sure nothing else happened at the party?" Patrick nods stiffly, staring ahead blanky. "Yes, Pete." He can hear Pete sigh before responding, "Okay, 'Trick."

After a few awkward silences and about 5 episodes of Friends, Pete finally speaks, "Patrick? You trust me, right?"  
"Yeah, of course." He could feel Pete stiffen and take a deep breath, "Then why are you lying?"  
"Why do you keep calling me a liar?" Patrick snaps, pulling away from Pete and glaring. "Because, Patrick-- you are lying. Fuck, you've gotten in fights before and it never wrecked you like this. You're falling apart and it's scaring me."  
"Then ignore it, if it bothers you so much." Pete reached over and gripped the smaller boy's shoulders, making the boy face him. "Damn it, Patrick. I just want you to be like you were before. I want my Patrick back." Patrick's eyes widened and he felt anger pooling into his veins, and he placed his hands on Pete's chest, pushing him harshly. He straddled Pete, hands on his chest still, and snarled, "Yeah, well your Patrick is fucking gone." He hung his head, bangs covering his face. They sat in silence, Patrick hunched over Pete, face covered with copper-blonde hair, before the younger of the two began to tremble, tears dripping from under the curtain of hair to Pete's shirt. Patrick's body jerked with sobs as he cried harder, hands gripping Pete's shirt and twisting. "I-I wish I was normal, Pete. 'M sorry."  
"Just talk to me, Patrick."  
"I can't." Pete stared up at the ceiling, eyes misting up, "Why?"  
"It will change everything." Pete sat up, his friend in his lap, and wrapped his arms around Patrick's shuddering form, holding him closer. "I don't care, I'll stay."  
"You wouldn't understand-- nobody will." Pete could tell the other was done talking, and they sat there, holding eachother, until Pete finally stated, "We should go upstairs in case my mom comes back early." Patrick nodded weakly, and Pete felt anguish as he looked at his friend's small form. Finally, Pete lifted Patrick off of him, standing, before picking the boy up bridal style. Patrick began to stiffen up and breathe faster, so Pete made sure to quickly get upstairs and place Patrick down. Not meeting his eyes, Patrick muttered, "Thanks." and sat on Pete's bed. 

"Do you hate me now?" Pete whispered, and Patrick's head snapped up, jerking back and forth as he shook his head violently. "God-- n-no, fuck. Never." Pete nodded and sat next to the other, leaning on him again. "I would miss you, 'Trick." Pete mumbled tiredly, emotionally drained for the day. For once, Patrick wanted to sleep, feeling safe with his best friend's presence. "Let's nap, huh?" Pete said softly, stiffling a yawn, and Patrick let out a small laugh at his friend's mannerisms. Pete flopped back, feet hanging off the bed, and closed his eyes. Patrick followed this action and laid next to him. It reminded him of all the times they stargazed or sat together, questioning life. Pete seemed to do that to him-- remind him of when it was all okay-- and it was a calming effect. For a moment, as Patrick closed his eyes, feeling the warm heat of a body next to him, he could picture them staring at the night sky together instead of the current situation. He smiled slightly, eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed against the blankets. It was almost like before.


	7. you are my medicine, when you're close to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete is an awesome friend, and Patrick feels a little less lonely.

Patrick awoke to being shook by Pete, and his immediate response was to kick out and thrash to defend himself. He heard a sharp 'Oof!' and Pete's hands left him, Patrick sat up a bit and leaned over the edge of the bed, greeting by Pete sprawled out on his back, knees to his chest, whimpering. "Good shot, Stump," Pete wheezed, tears gathering in his eyes, "really good shot." Patrick shot out of bed, kneeling next to his best friend, panick flickering in his eyes. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry--"  
"'Trick, it's cool." Pete assured him as he rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, the two kneeling together on the floor. Pete glanced over and caught Patrick's eye, giving a large grin, and the strawberry blonde blushed and looked away quickly. "Sorry, still." Patrick mumbled, standing up slowly, pushing his messy hair from his face. Pete hopped to his feet, smile in place, and said, "Oh, yeah! I woke you up because my parents are both working all day today! Free day!" Patrick gave a nervous smile as Pete stumbled about the room, looking through clothes, eyes narrowed as he sifted through the many shirts crammed in drawers. Patrick rolled his eyes and walked over to his bag, dropping to his knees next to it, and began rummaging through the mess. "Dress decently-- can't let people think I ain't treating you right, babe." Pete purred, using a stereotypical Chicago-goer accent. Patrick chuckled and shook his head, pulling out some jeans before stating, "All I have is argyle and sweaters, and you'll bitch if I wear them." Pete, as if on cue, chucked a shirt at his head, causing Patrick to jump in shock, before grabbing the shirt and holding it out, glacing it over. It was a large Metallica shirt, and Patrick shrugged, picking the clothes up and heading to the bathroom. 

As he looked at the mirror, he noticed the awful bags under his eyes, and his dry, cracked lips suffering from him chewing on them due to nerves. It was a habit he recently developed, and so far it had been hell on his lips, ripping them up quite bad. He pushed his hair from his face, sighing, and shucked his shirt off, tossing it behind him. He tried not to, but looked in the mirror, cringing at his pale form. Patrick had already felt self concious as is, but ever since that night he began to wonder-- was he not attractive at all? Was the only person who would be willing to ever touch him be the man at the party-- nobody else had ever shown interest to do... that with him. He quickly pulled on Pete's shirt, the bathroom eerily silent as he looked anywhere but the mirror and dressed.

When he exited the bathroom, Pete was sitting on his bed, texting on his phone, smiling at something he came across. Pete looked up at him and smiled, eyes crinkling up as he said, "You look great, man." Patrick offered a shy smile back, walking over to sit next to Pete and pull on his torn up sneakers. Pete leaned against him as he began pulling his shoes on, making little irritated grunts as he tried to pull the already tied shoe on. In all honesty, Patrick was happy Pete invited him over now. He felt comfortable in the silence in between them, and he felt safe sleeping with his best friend there to protect him, as childish as that sounded.

"Ready to go?" Pete chirped, a hesitant smile on his face as he reached a hand out to Patrick. Patrick nodded shakily, a weak smile on his face. His stomach was turning as he thought about being around people again-- last time he was around so many people, everything took such a turn. Patrick grabbed his best friend's hand, pulling himself up, and Pete gripped his hand tighter and didn't let go, glancing at Patrick with a small smile, "Just hold on to me, that way if you get too nervous or anything you can just tug and my hand and we'll leave." Patrick gave a big, geniune smile and squeezed Pete's hand, whispering, "You're the best." Pete squeezed his hand back in response as they headed to the door, and for once Patrick felt less twisted up inside with Pete by his side.

"Where are we going?" Patrick questioned, eyebrows knitted together as he looked out the window of the car. "Shhh, it's a secret," Pete replied, eyes trained on the road, "and by secret, I mean it's an ice cream place." Patrick cracked a smile at Pete's words, and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, and stared out the window at the passing surroundings. He wondered to himself if this was one of the last times he and Pete would hang out, if he decided to tell the other what really happened. Pete had been so understanding so far, but people were easily changed, and if Pete knew the truth, well... how does one react if they're told their best friend was raped? Was too weak to fight back, just took it and let it happen? He remembers staring into space, going limp for his attacker, and wonders if he could've tried harder.

After about 10 minutes, Patrick was broken from his thoughts by Pete gently grabbing his shoulder and shaking him, nodding his head towards the ice cream shop they had parked in front of. Patrick nodded and reached for the door handle, hands filled with tremors. Once he stepped out, Pete was instantly by his side, offering his hand. Patrick quickly grabbed his friend's hand and they walked into the shop, Pete bouncing over to the display case to oggle the ice cream flavors. Patrick glanced around them, noticing a couple people around his age laughing with their friends, and his heart ached. If he had been with friends, doing something like this instead of sneaking out to a party, this wouldn't have happened. "Patrick," Pete whispered, nudging his friend, "Patrickkkkkk." Patrick's head jerked up and he turned to look at his friend. "What, Pete?"  
"Which flavor do you want? I was thinking maybe..." Pete continued to happily ramble about ice cream and Patrick couldn't help but stare at Pete's smile, how happy he seemed. He felt slightly naseous as he realized how shitty this must be for Pete. Pete was finally getting better, and now he had Patrick's mess to deal with. He was once again pulled from his thoughts as an ice cream was shoved into his hands and Pete tugged him away to the farthest booth in the emptier part of the shop. As they passed the teens, one of them gave a gruff, fake cough and snapped, "Fags!" Patrick flinced and Pete squeezed his hand, pulling him away and gently pushing him towards the empty booth. 

Pete sat across from him and reached his hand over the table, palm up, offering Patrick a life line-- an anchor. Patrick placed his hand on Pete's, face flushing. Now his stupid issues were getting Pete called slurs and causing embarassment. Pete must feel disgusted, knowing people thought he was dating someone like Patrick. "Hey, 'trick." Pete murmured softly, tapping the table with his free hand, Patrick met his gaze, and Pete gave a soft smile, "Fuck those guys, okay? They're assholes." Patrick nodded blankly, hoping Pete was being honest. They sat in comfortable silence, eating ice cream and occasionally making hushed conversation. Patrick felt honestly happy. Eventually they got up to leave, an hour having passed, and Pete frowned at the sight of Patrick's ice cream, which had mostly melted and was barely eaten. He stayed silent about his worries and they stood up, throwing their trash away, before they gripped eachother's hands and walked out.

Instead of heading to the car, Pete tugged the other along to the next store, the pair eventually making their way down the row of stores on the street. At each store they browsed and joked around, Pete pulling on bikini tops and putting on large sunglasses, etc. By the time they finished, it was about 4 PM and they both had bags with some clothes and other objects they had bought inside. The two laughed as they trudged back to the car, and once they had both sat in the car, Pete sighed happily, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed. "That was awesome, right?" Patrick grinned and chirped, "It definitely was!" Pete's smile widened as he opened his eyes and looked at Patrick, before starting the car.

Once back at Pete's home, they rushed to Pete's room to hide away from the empty house. Pete jumped onto the bed, snuggling into the comforter, and Patrick sat down next to him. "Hey, Pete?" Pete let out a soft noise to show he was listening, and Patrick continued, "Thank you. I know it must suck to have to babysit me because I'm all fucked up-- but I really had fun. I've haven't felt this happy in a while." Pete sat up onto his knees and turned to sit next to Patrick. Pete wrapped his arm around Patrick's shoulders, and pulled him into a side hug, Patrick's face pressed against the other's neck. "It could never suck to have you around, 'trick. And you would do the same for me. I really care about you, and I want you to be happy, nothing could ever change that, okay?" Patrick smiled against Pete's neck, eyes squeezed closed.

Finally Pete broke the silence, stating, "I feel like it's unhealthy to want to go to the ice cream shop again already." Patrick giggled and pulled from the hug, softly punching Pete's arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't answered to some comments! Every comment is amazing, thank you for your support.


	8. i've got better luck in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we disappoint ourselves.  
> Sometimes the high points quickly become low points.

It had been over 3 weeks-- nearly a month.

It was finally the end of Patrick's practical imprisonment at Pete's house, but honestly, Patrick had enjoyed it more than he had expected. He had felt happier and safer than he previously felt, and at the thought of leaving he felt a little cold inside. Pete walked him to the front door, carrying his stuff for him. "Are you sure you want to walk home?" Patrick nodded swiftly, reaching his hands out for his stuff, which Pete hesitantly handed over, eyes flashing with concern. "I need to get outside, and it's only a 30 minute walk. I'll call if I need you." Pete nodded, opening the door for Patrick. As the shorter boy stepped out, Pete grabbed his arm so they stood on the doorstep, facing eachother. Pete leaned down and pushed Patrick's hair back, gently kissing his forehead. "I'm always a call away. Always." Patrick's cheeks flushed as he nodded jerkily and turned, making his way down the driveway. He turned and waved back to Pete, offering a small smile at Pete's aggressive waving/flailing.

As soon as he made it down the first couple streets, he regretted his decision. The sidewalks were desolate, and the sky gray and darkening, and he cursed his terrible timing. It would probably be dark by the time he got home, and he still had to walk through the worse parts of the small town. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, holding his bag to his chest, anxiety bubbling up in him. He noticed a group of college kids approaching from far down the sidewalk, where a local bar was located, and his heart jumped in his throat. He quickly crossed the street, and cringed when the group stared at him, confused. Finally, one of the men shouted, "What's wrong, jailbait? Afraid of little old us?" The group burst into drunken laughter and Patrick felt his ears heat up and he gripped his stuff tighter and picked up the pace, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes. He heard fast footsteps and froze completely, feeling a hand grip his shoulder. He let out a scream and turned, pushing and hitting at the person holding him. "Woah, woah-- calm down! Are you okay, those guys were drunk and I saw them giving you shit--" Patrick's eyes snapped open as he looked up at the man, and noticed he was quite tall. "S-Sorry, I thought..." The man patted Patrick's shoulder, eyes kind, and nodded sympathetically. "It's all good, I would be jumpy too. What are you doing out so late here?" Patrick looked down at the sidewalk, cheeks flushing, "I was-- uh... walking home." he replied sheepishly, and he heard the man let out a small chuckle. Patrick offered a nervous smile and turned away. He cringed when he felt a hand grab him and pull him back. "Woah, woah, hey... aren't you going to pay me back for helping you out?" Patrick paled and he wrenched his arm away, spinning around and dashing as far away as possible, hearing the man call behind him, "I was joking, dude! Come back!" 

Patrick continued to run, wheezing and coughing by the time he stopped. He was still about 10 minutes away from home, and he already felt like vomiting. He stumbled tiredly down the sidewalk, trudging along with his phone out, checking his texts while also keeping it out as a precaution. When he finally came up to his house, he felt like crying with relief. He quickly texted Pete to inform him that he had made it home safe, and shoved his phone in his back pocket, walking up to the door. He unlocked the door and practically threw himself inside, letting out a loud sigh. He dashed upstairs and threw his stuff onto the floor, lunging onto the bed and cuddling into the comforter. He threw off his shoes and continued to lay face down on the bed before rolling over after about 5 minutes, staring at the ceiling again. His phone vibrated, alerting him to Pete's response, and he simply ignored it, getting up and tossing it onto the bedside table. He stumbled to the bathroom, the silence in the house causing his ears to ring, as per usual. He rumaged through the cabinet, pulling out asprin, and popped about 5, shoving the bottle back in it's place. He began to draw a bath and undressed, eyes looking anywhere but the mirror as he threw his clothes to the ground. Once the bath was filled, he quickly sank down into the water, wincing at the burning sensation. Once he settled he closed his eyes, imagining all the dirty feelings just burning away.  
He wished it was that simple.

Patrick sighed and tipped his head back, looking at the blank ceiling, thinking, before he nodded to himself, feeling bile rise in his throat. He pulled himself up, out of the burning heat, and shuffled to the cabinet, pulling out a plastic container. He grabbed some of it's contents, walking over and easing himself into the water again. He had seen Pete's scars, had always wondered why someone would do it to themselves, but he supposed he got the allure. He gripped one of the shiny razors, turning it over in his palm, observing the sharp glinting edge.

'No going back now.' he thought, as he pressed the blade to his thigh and applied pressure, wincing slightly, before dragging it across. He let out a hiss and watched the red bubble out of the split flesh, then dissapate into the bath water. He repeated the action several times, his mind fuzzily screaming at him. 'I deserve this. This is punishment.' Patrick closed his eyes and let out a tiny sob, before opening his eyes yet again and pressing the blade to the other leg. For once, he felt in control about what was causing him pain. For a moment, he was in charge of how much pain he felt and where he felt it. He thought of hot panting breaths in his face, reeking of alcohol, felt the hands gripping his waist and covering his mouth. He let out a loud wail, dropping his head back and letting it thump against the wall.

He shakily stood up, cuts welling up with blood. He cringed and grabbed a dark towel, pressing it to his legs so he could shuffle over to sit on the toilet seat. He sat there for about 30 minutes, holding the towel to his cuts before they finally clotted and ceased bleeding. He felt sick to his stomach. He was such a hypocrite-- he remembers seeing Pete holding the razor, remembers screaming and crying at his best friend. God, what would Pete think? Patrick felt more pathetic than he did before, pushing the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Fuck--!" He snapped to the silent air, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't let Pete find out, couldn't fuck him up any more than he already had. Pete was already stuggling enough, and he was finally getting much better. Patrick sat up finally, pulling his clothes on slowly, trying to avoid re-opening his cuts. He stepped out of the bathroom and dashed to his room, laying face first onto the bed, smothering his face with the pillow. He sobbed quietly into the cloth, fingers twisting into the blankets. He kept crying, coughing and sputtering, breathing hitching. Finally, he let out such a hard sob that he gagged and gasped for air, breathing picking up. He reached over to the side table, feeling around for a moment before gripping his phone. He felt guilt choking him. He opened his messages, noticing the unread one from Pete.

Pete: good!! stay safe

Patrick took in a sharp breath, before beginning to type.

Patrick: pete?  
Pete: trick? whats up??  
Patrick: god, m so sorry  
Pete: r u okay????  
Patrick: m fine, but im srry.  
Patrick: come over tommorow?  
Pete: course, dont do anything stupid

Patrick sat the phone back down, hitting himself on the forehead with his palm. 'Stupid, so fucking stupid and selfish.' He couldn't be independent for even a day without snapping and having a breakdown. He was practically a child, and he hated himself for it. He knew he would have to spill about... everything. He had to. That way Pete could just get it over with and end their friendship earlier rather than later. Pete could be free, and would be so disappointed he would finally leave. 

Patrick let out a dry sob, throat aching. Pete was one of the last good things he had in life. He would miss the presence of his best friend, but it was better this way. It was selfish of him to keep lying to Pete so he could drag Pete down with him.

Patrick: come at 12. mom will be gone.


	9. would you leave me, if i told you what i've become?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all spills out, and secrets need to be kept.

To say he was nervous was a massive understatement. His stomach was twisted in knots as he sat on his bed, listening to the crisp silence being cut by the ticking of his inevitable doom. He glanced at the clock. It was 11 A.M., and one hour remained until he made the decision that would easily ruin everything he had ever cared for. Patrick ran his fingers through his hair, taking in small, shaky breaths. He wandered into the bathroom and looked at himself. 

He saw a practical ghost staring back-- all disheveled hair and pale skin, bags like bruises under his eyes. Patrick lifted his hand, touching his cheek, and noticed his cheekbones were protruding more than usual. He let out a dry, sharp laugh and dropped his hand, a stray tear running down his face. He remembered when his biggest worry was how heavy he was, and now avoiding eating was second nature at this point. Eating made him sick now, at this point everything made him nauseous, and even staying with Pete didn't eliminate the sickness deep in his soul. He opened the cabinet and choked back about 4 asprin, swallowing them dry and gagging.

He checked his phone repeatedly, chewing at his lip. 45 minutes. At this point, Pete coming was inevitable, no going back. Today was the day. He had recited a short explaination in the mirror millions of time but he had never felt more lost and nervous, but he had to do it. He knew it was selfish to keep dragging Pete down and lying. He deserved to know the sickening truth, and then he would have good reason to flee and stay far away from the walking black hole Patrick had become. That's all he was-- blank, dark, pulling everyone under and destroying everything. Pete was a burning star that should burn on for a long while, not get sucked in by the dark void of Patrick's life.

Patrick eventually settled with stumbling down the stairs and sitting on the couch, tearing at his lip with his teeth. He tasted the sweet tang of iron and couldn't help but think of glinting teeth, tearing him apart and the feel of warm blood down his legs. Patrick opening a browser on his phone and looked up some ways to tell Pete. He didn't want to make more of a fool of himself than he already had. Everything told him not to be afraid, that he shouldn't feel bad. How could they say that? As if it was so fucking easy to just cease feeling disgusting and empty. His phone went off, and he jumped in his seat, quickly exiting the internet tab. 

Pete: outside, unlock the door  
Patrick: Why didn't you knock?  
Pete: hurt hand  
Pete: also 2 lazy

Patrick sighed and walked to the door, unlocking it, and scrambled back as Pete threw the door open, a smile on his face. Patrick could see through the mask, and noticed the underlying fear and concern in his whiskey eyes. "Patrick." he breathed out, and he went in for a hug, but Patrick gently rested his hands on Pete's chest, shaking his head. He nodded his head towards the couch, and Pete stiffly walked to the sofa and took a seat. Patrick sat on the far end, deja vu hitting him strongly, but this time he would do it.

"So, uh..." Pete looked at him, nodding to show he was intently listening. "Where do I start?" Patrick sighed, barking out a harsh laugh and burying his face in his hands. "Start by the truth, when this began. What happened that night?" Patrick took in a sharp breath, face still in his hands to hide his tears. "There was a guy, like your friends told you-- the one I said I was getting help from? And um, we were hanging out. He was flirting w-with me, and I told him to slow down..." He peeked up at his best friend, noticing Pete tensing up, anger appearing in his eyes. He cringed and continued, voice cracking as he stated, "He was getting me pretty wasted. I was so drunk and he must... must have-- uh... slipped something in." He could hear Pete take in a sharp breath, much like a gasp. "What happened then, 'trick?" Pete said softly, leaning over to rest his hand on Patrick's trembling shoulder.

Patrick let out a harsh gasp, a sob wracking his body as he whispered, "H...He took me up--upstairs, and h-he... I told him to stop Pete, I swear I did." Patrick's voice cracked again at the end, tears running down his face. He could feel Pete's grip tighten on his shoulder as Pete choked out, "Did he stop?" Patrick shook his head, gripping his bangs in his fingers. "And he was holding me down, and I wasn't... I wa-asn't strong enough. I'm s-so sorry." Patrick began bawling, choking and coughing as he continued, "I tr--tried so hard! But I couldn't move and it hurt so so ba-ad-- and I screamed and nobody came--" Patrick's words became harsh wheezes and Pete was quickly at his side, rubbing his back im gentle circles, whispering softly, "Hey, stay with me, in and out." Patrick turned and curled into Pete's chest, fingers tangled in the other's shirt as he sobbed. Pete wrapped his other arm around Patrick's shoulders and gently combed through his sweaty hair. "You don't have to keep going." Patrick nodded weakly and sniffled, pulling away, and Pete's heart screamed at the sight of his pained friend. "Oh, Patrick..." Pete sighed, and Patrick flinched, pulling back, but Pete lifted his hand and placed it on Patrick's cheek, thumb rubbing away some tears. "You don't have to apologize. None of this was your fault, okay? None of it at all. I'm really proud of you for being strong." Patrick let out another soft sob and lifted his own hand, layering it over Pete's. "Why don't you hate me?"  
"Oh, silly..." Pete whispered, heart shattering as he met his friend's puffy eyes, "I could never hate you for something like this-- I love you. You're everything, 'trick." Patrick began to cry again, fat tears rolling down his face, lip trembling. "Thank you." Patrick croaked, eyes closing, "God, I'm so fucking sorry." Pete shook his head, pulling Patrick to his chest gently, burying his face into Patrick's hair. "Patrick..."  
"I don' wanna talk about it anymore." Patrick sniffled, pressing his face to Pete's chest. "You can't tell anyone." Pete's voice caught in his throat and he whispered, "Patrick... you--"  
"No," Patrick pulled away from him, wrapping his arms around himself, "you really can't. I trust you, Pete, so please... You're all I have left. Please." Pete nodded numbly as he once again held Patrick. He wanted to find who did this, wanted to punish them and hurt them. Finally Patrick let out a soft breath, stating, "It won't go away, no matter how much I itch at it. I still feel it and it-- it makes me so fucking sick!" Pete squeezed Patrick's form, willing himself to not burst into tears. "I'm sorry you have to deal with me. I'm so selfish for doing this to you." Pete shushed him and continued to hug him, swaying them back and forth slightly.

The pair sat there for a while, Patrick still softly crying, before finally Patrick tuckered himself out and passed out on Pete's chest. Pete let out a broken smile as he looked at his young friend's sleeping form. Patrick looked so at ease and happy when he was asleep. Pete never would've have guessed that something like that happened to him. Pete gently picked up his best friend, heart cracking even more. Why did bad things happen to good people? Patrick didn't deserve this shit-- he deserved to be singing his heart out happily, not crying and aching.

Pete crawled into the bed with Patrick's limp form and kissed his forehead, cradling the smaller boy closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems too soon-- going from my own experiences, even though it was so hard (and my sitaution wasn't quite so severe) I finally decided sooner was better than later because I trusted my best friend.
> 
> I would imagine Pete and Patrick have a strong friendship.


	10. i feel like i'm the worst, so i always act like i'm the best

Pete's eyes fluttered open and the first thing he registered was heat. He looked down and smiled at the sight of Patrick peacefully slumbering on his chest, relaxed and quiet. He slowly reached over to his phone, checking through his texts, and nearly punched himself when he noticed all the missed messages from Joe.

Joe: Yo, how did it go??  
Joe: Is he chill or  
Joe: PETE  
Joe: Cmon dude you promised to tell me  
Joe: I'm worried about my pal  
Pete: hes managing  
Pete: ill get back to u w/ it

Pete dropped the phone back down, cringing at the loud bang it made as it landed on the nightstand. He brought his right hand up to brush through Patrick's hair, feeling his eyes burm as he thought about last night's events. Patrick. Poor, sweet Patrick who deserved the world. Pete felt angry at himself for letting Patrick go to the party-- he knew Joe blamed himself as well. Neither of them could have imagined this would happen to Patrick at a party. Pete could've guessed getting laid or getting drunk and embrassing himself, but this was cruel. And the fear in Patrick eyes when he told him... he felt sick, thinking about Patrick staying up all night, thinking Pete and everyone else would hate him for something like this.

"'trick, hey." Pete whispered, tapping Patrick's shoulder. The other boy groaned and continued to sleep, rubbing his eyes and sighing, content. Pete really hoped Patricia wasn't too mad about him staying over uninvited. Pete leaned his head back against the pillow, finding comfort in the feeling of another person near him. He didn't want to wake Patrick, but he knew he had to-- they still needed to talk about this, and it was already the afternoon, all that emotional talk having drained them completely. "Patrick." Pete said at a normal volume, shattering the silence in the room. "Patrick, time to wake up." Patrick let out a whimper and snuggled closer, and Pete resisted the urge to swoon and called for his friend again. Patrick's eyes fluttered open and he sat up, hands on Pete's chest, and yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Pete?" He groaned, before freezing, eyes wide as he looked down at his friend. "Oh-- oh shit. F-Fuck." Patrick jumped out of the bed and bolted, and Pete quickly jumped up after him, shouting, "Patrick! It's okay, wait!" He came to a skidding halt in front of the bathroom, and felt pain in his chest as he heard Patrick retching inside. 

He slowly pushed the door open, frown deep on his face as he took in the scene. Patrick looked up at him, shame filling his eyes as he looked away just as swiftly. "Oh, Patrick. Luncbox. Rickster." Pete walked over and sat down against the wall next to Patrick, and the other refused to look at him. "It doesn't change anything between us." Pete stated, tone even and breath hitching as he waited for a response. "For now." Patrick croaked, hicupping as he gagged again. "No, never. What happened wasn't your fault, that sleeze had no control and hurt an innocent teenager." Patrick shook his head, staring at the wall, "It was my fault, Pete. I flirted with him an--and I got drunk! And I never said no--"  
"He drugged you! You couldn't fight back!"  
"It wouldn't have happened if I would have just stopped being so dumb. I really fucked up this time, Pete." Patrick had silent tears running down his face as he turned and locked eyes with the other, "I'm so sorry, Pete. I'm just a burden, a blackhole." Pete shook his head, gently grabbing Patrick's hands, holding them tightly in his own. "God, no. Never. Fuck, Patrick, I owe you everything, you're why I'm alive. I was a burden. I tried to kill myself. I was selfish-- this? Not your fault." Patrick shook his head again, softly protesting, "Pete, you aren't selfish, you weren't a burden--"  
"And that's what I'm trying to tell you." 

Silence fell upon the two as Patrick's wide eyed stare was directed towards Pete. Finally, Patrick took in a shakey breath and flung himself into Pete's arm, face buried in his neck. Pete closed his eyes and pulled the smaller boy closer, wanting to hold him like this forever, as if he may shatter when Pete let go. "Thank you. For being here." Pete nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick's head, rubbing his back, before quickly stopping himself. "Is the kissing still cool?" Patrick sighed and rolled his eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "Yes. I trust you, Pete. You're my best friend." Pete grinned and pressed another kiss, this time to Patrick's nose. 

After about 10 minutes, Patrick hesitantly pulled away and rubbed his arm, looking away. "Its still kinda hard for me, y'know?" Pete glanced up at his friend, confused. "Everything makes me think about it. It's so dumb, but looking at the ceiling reminds me of that night. Eating and drinking makes me sick, makes me think of how I threw up after he..." The boy gulped, and Pete nodded sympathetically, waiting for him to continue. "This isn't easy for me. I trust you, though. You're my best friend, and I trust you more than anyone."  
"And I trust you, 'trick."

Patrick looked up at him and smiled, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I'm not sure what to do, anymore. It's so fucking hard." Pete reached his hand out, and Patrick gripped it, squeezing it to anchor himself. "We'll do this together. Can I-- uh..."  
"You can ask questions." Patrick said softly, squeezing Pete's hand again. "Okay, stop me if you need to. Did he use protection?" Patrick shrugged, "I don't remember." Pete felt sick. "Do you remember what he looks like?"  
"No. Too fuzzy, tried to block it o-out." Pete glanced down at their hands, taking a deep breath. This was his best friend, one of the most important people in the world. "What do we do now?" Patrick whispers, and he sounds much like a scared child during a thunderstorm. "We just... uh. Live? And try to work through this." Pete stated, bringing their joined hands together to kiss Patrick's knuckles. The other flushed and offerd a shy smile in return, "Okay. That sounds good." 

After a moment of silence, Patrick spoke again, "What if I'm never okay? What then?"  
"The we keep trying." Patrick let out a dry chuckle, pushing his hair from his face. "We should probably eat-- especially you." Pete states, standing and pulling Patrick up with him. He released the other's hand and nodded to the door, and Patrick sighed, then nodded in response. As they walked downstairs, Patrick followed slightly behind, dread filling him. Staircases and men. It freaked him out, even if it was just Pete.

Once they were in the kitchen, Pete motioned for Patrick to have a seat, then rummaged through the fridge. "There's-- uh... There's sandwich meat in the drawer, Pete." Pete nodded, determination in his eyes as he pulled out items and began making sandwiches, tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as if he were in deep thought. Patrick watched fondly, a small smile on his face.

"Having fun?" Pete nodded and said nothing, pausing, before spinning around with two plates, a grin present on his face. "Your meal, my dear." Pete announced, placing a poorly made sandwich in front of the other. Patrick began giggling and Pete joined in, the two laughing loudly as Pete took a seat. Pete tore into his food, and Patrick poked at the plate, disgust filling him at the thought of eating. Pete looked up at him, concern written on his face, and Patrick looked down, reaching for the sandwich and slowly taking a bite, trying to ignore the tightening in his throat. Pete offered a smile towards him and began eating again, and Patrick smiled back, stomach churning. He finished the sandwich and told Pete, "Hey, why don't you wait in the livingroom, I need to grab something from my room and go to the bathroom." Pete nodded and grabbed the plates, placing them in the sink, and Patrick thanked him before heading upstairs. 

He stumbled into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast before stumbling to the toilet, shakily dropping to his knees and vomiting, tears streaming down his face as the acid burned his throat. He didn't want to do this, but eating made him feel sick. His body, being so used to skipping meals from the two weeks after the incident, rejected large amounts of food. Eating also made him feel... revolting? He couldn't shake the thoughts floating in his head about his weight, his looks-- was he really so undesirable that nobody wanted him except some random college guy who--who raped him? Patrick knew he wasn't the hottest guy around, but to have such alarming proof... it hurt. Bad. He wanted to look thin and beautiful, like all those scene kids that Pete fucked in the bathroom of clubs. He had to be-- why else would anyone date him? He was emotionally shattered, just damaged goods. At least if he was attractive then somebody could keep him around due to that.

He flushed the toilet and stood up shakily, rinsing his mouth out. He felt a sick sense of pride at what he had done. Patrick felt powerful, having controlled what he had eaten. He let a smile cross his face as he exited the bathroom, entering his room to grab his hat, before making his way downstairs. Pete looked up from the TV as he arrived and smiled. "You seem happy?"  
"I feel like I'm in control, for once." Patrick sat next to his friend, smile growing larger. "Really? That's awesome, 'trick."  
"Yeah," the smaller boy sighed, shame flooding his mind as he mentally berated himself for his actions, "I guess it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it probably seems like I'm just torturing Patrick for the hell of it, but a high amount of rape survivors develop eating disorders to gain a sense of control.


	11. right when i'm near, it's like you disappear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter because I suck. Also, I changed this fanfic's name-- sorry about that!

Pete was next Patrick as they sat together on the sofa, and the tattoed boy leaned over, slowly easing down to lay his head in Patrick's lap. Patrick's eyes fluttered and black dots danced before his vision, gone as quickly as they arrived, as he shook his head gently as if to clear the fog. Pete muttered something, and Patrick craned his head to look down at his friend. "What was that?"  
"You know I love you, right? You're my best friend." Patrick smiled softly, fingers brushing through Pete's straightened hair, "I know. I love you too." Pete looked up at him and smiled, and Patrick couldn't help but return it. 'I don't deserve you.'

"Eventually we need to do something other than lay around." Pete stated in an amused tone, sitting up. Patrick yawned and shook his head, rubbing his burning eyes. "There's nothing to do."  
"We could always hang out with An--"  
"No." Patrick stood up, avoiding Pete's gaze, swaying slightly as his head pounded. "Joe and Andy are really worried-- especially Joe. Why haven't you talked to them?"  
"They wouldn't understand." Pete goes silent and his gaze saddens as he reaches a hand out. Patrick flinches away before it can grip his shoulder and turns away, looking at the ground. 5 weeks? 6 weeks? Maybe even 7. Patrick closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, letting out a sigh that cut off into a sharp guffaw. "I'm so fucked up, you know that?" Pete shook his head, taking a step closer, and Patrick stepped towards him as well this time, placing a hand on his chest. "It's like someone cut me open and took parts of me out, then sewed me back up, and everytime I even close my eyes, the stitches are ripped open and it's all happening again," Patrick sniffled, raising his stare to Pete's face, smiling grimly, "and it doesn't matter if he enjoys those pieces of me-- he can never give them back. I can't ever take them back." 

Pete layered his hand over Patrick's, interlacing their fingers, knocking his forehead gently against Patrick's. He met Patrick's eyes and saw how truly tired his friend appeared. The bags under his eyes were worse, his edges all sharper and unwelcoming. He looked so... small. Fragile, like a hummingbird, heart racing and ready to run at any moment. "You can't push us away. It won't help." Patrick let out another dry laugh, eyes betraying him as he states softly, "You wouldn't understand. That's just how things are. It's better this way." 

They sit there for minutes, maybe hours, foreheads pressed together, silence surrounding them, heavy and suffocating. Pete would squeeze Patrick's hand occasionally, as if checking to make sure he was still there. Patrick pulls away first and says nothing, and Pete takes that as his cue to leave. He stops in the threshold of the front door and turns his head, "I care about you, Patrick."  
"I know." That's why it hurts so fucking bad.

Patrick paced around afterwards, thinking. His mom was getting suspicious, everyone was. Everyone was closing in and he was a scared little mouse, cornered in and waiting for the inevitable. He felt a burning in his chest, stomach acid burning his esophagus and bringing tears to his eyes. As he slumped over the toilet, he felt no satisfaction this time. Just pain and burning, disappointment scorching his very being. He heaved once more and gagged when nothing came up, panting heavily, face sticky with sweat and tears. He wondered faintly if this is what dying felt like, a choking, burning pain grating your throat as you suffocated. He shoved a finger down his throat again and gagged once more, tears falling faster. He wanted to be purged of this sickness plaguing him-- to feel pure and clean inside once more. His head spun and everything sang around him as he slumped down before falling limply onto the floor, wheezing. 

Patrick felt tremors running through his body, vaguely wondering if this was from crying too hard, not eating, anxiety or all of the above. He closed his eyes, then opened them slowly, the world jumping about him. He slid his hand along the dirty tile floor, reaching out for anything, some saving grace. His mouth was open in a silent scream, gapsing for air that wouldn't come.

When he wakes 2 hours later on the bathroom floor, the only evidence of his previous actions is the rancid smell of stomach acid and his torn up knuckles. He screams into the empty bathroom, eyes clenched shut tightly, fingernails digging into his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer has finally started for me, but the next two weeks I'll be on vacation. I can (hopefully) write a little, but updates will be slow.


	12. you lying there, like a lilo losing air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy and Joe try to be good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a tiny bit bloody and graphic.

"Patrick, you have been worrying me... did something happen with your friends?"  
"No, mom. I'm just really stressed and tired." His mother sighed and nodded, leaning down to kiss Patrick on the forehead, "I love you, Ricky. Be good." Patrick nodded, faking a smile as he replied, "I love you too." His mother brushed her hair from her face, sighing. "I only just got back, and now I'm leaving again. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Patrick nodded, feeling sick just thinking about having to see family. He felt guilty, making his mom go alone, but he knew he could not handle being around all those people for weeks on end. His mom huffed and lifted her suitcase, and Pateick rushed over to pick it up for her. She smiled at him and he gave a grin back, thankful for his how sweet his mom was. She completely understood his anxiety around people he didn't know well, so she let him avoid the family reunion. 

Outside the house she hugged him tightly, and he cringed as she brushed against the bruises on his back from slamming against the bathroom floor. "Stay safe." Patrick nodded and smiled again, "I know mom, you too." She pressed another kiss to his forehead and hopped in the car, waving as she started it. Patrick waved back as she pulled out of the driveway, continuing to do so until she was out of sight. His smile faded as he slowly made his way back to the house. He noticed his phone screen lighting up on the table as he entered, and sighed loudly.

Joe: Patriiiick  
Joe: Dude  
Joe: Can I come over??  
Patrick: Can't. Sorry.  
Joe: Bullshit, I called your mom and asked her.  
Patrick: ...  
Joe: Be over in a hour. :)

Patrick threw his phone down and growled, rubbing his temples once more. "Fuck!" he snapped, slamming his hand down onto the table. He rushed upstairs, slamming his door shut as he lunged into his room. He locked it and slumped against the door, back sliding down it as he sat down. He buried his face into his knees, arms wrapped around himself, body shaking. Joe would find out. He would manage to keep going and going until Patrick spilled. He slammed his head into the door, tears gathering in his eyes. At this rate, everyone would know. He stood up and walked over to his dresser, rummaging through the drawers aggresively, panic setting in. He needed to layer clothes to hide the bruises and how thin he had gotten. He also needed to wear pants that wouldn't reopen the fresh cuts on his legs.

He pulled out sweats and pulled them on, cringing as they rubbed against the cuts. He then grabbed a faded Green Day shirt, layering a cardigan over it. To be safe, he walked to the closet and pulled out an ugly purple hoodie Pete left and pulled it on, zipping it up. He shoved a trucker hat on, pulling it down as if to hide. He ran to the bathroom and peered into the mirror, pulling the hat off. He brushed through his greasy hair, matted down from sweat, and winced as he pulled at tangles. Deeming it somewhat neater, his sat the hat on his head again and smiled weakly at his reflection. 

Now to wait. He pulled his phone out, opening his messages with Joe.

Patrick: Where are you?  
Joe: Down town, left early, be there in like 10 maybe  
Joe: Hope that's chill  
Patrick: Sure.

Patrick took a deep breath, locking the bathroom door, before reaching into the cabinent, fingers brushing against the plastic container. He grabbed it and opened it with trembling hands, fingers sliding against cool metal. 'Just a little, to ground myself.' The pain seemed to keep him from floating away into his mind, as fucked up as that was. He pulled the sweats down and pressed the razor against the inflammed skin, letting out a pained gasp as he ran it down all the scabs and tore them open again. He clenched his teeth as he dragged it across the skin a few more times, stopped as the blood covered his leg and began dripping onto the tiled floor. He stood up, covering the cuts with his hand in an attempt to staunch the blood flow as he grabbed toilet paper and began shoving against the cuts to catch the dripping blood. Knocks slammed against the front door, and he could hear Joe shouting his name. "Shit, shit, shit..." Patrick whispered to himself, grabbing more toilet paper. This was really bad, the bleeding wouldn't fucking stop. He could hear the front door open and froze, fear clutching his heart. "Patrick?" he could hear faintly, as he stayed silent. The voice was getting close, and he panicked more as he realized that he could hear Andy as well. Great. Was Pete here too?

Finally, there was knocking at the door, and he hoarsely shouted, "Going to the bathroom!" He stood up, toilet paper still pressed to his leg, and found the first aid kit, grabbing the large bandaids and pressing them to the cuts, hissing as he pulled the toilet paper away, the paper sticking to open wounds. He layered about 10 large square bandaids and hoped that it would hold the blood off for a little while. He stumbled out of the bathroom and downstairs, smiling weakly at Joe and Andy. They both smiled back, and Joe jumped up, enveloping him in a tight hug. "You're not dead! You never texted after the party! I was so worried, then Pete texted me and said he was with you and--"   
"Okay, Joe. Take a breath." Andy said, laughing a bit, and Joe's mouth snapped shut, nodding. "We were all worried." Andy summarized, and Patrick offered a tired smile in response, "Sorry." Andy nodded stiffly, eyes raking over his small form, and Patrick resisted the urge to flee. "You look really pale, Patrick." Andy observed, and Joe nodded, concern filling his gaze, "And tired. Super tired." Patrick ignored the comments, instead asking, "Where's Pete?"  
"He said you probably didn't want to see him," Joe responded, smile faltering, "are you fighting?"  
"No!" Patrick snorted, rolling his eyes, "Pete's just overreacting." Andy nodded sympathetically, "He'll come around eventually."   
"Thanks for coming, guys." Joe snorted, giving a mock glare, "Says the one who tried to lie his way outta seeing us." Patrick's face flushed and he went silent. "Well," Andy said, breaking the awkward silence, "I need to go to the bathroom--"  
"Upstairs, last door on the right." Andy gave a nod of his head and a smile and disappeared up the stairs, leaving the younger boys alone. "So," Joe stated, picking at his nails, "do you hate us? Or something?"   
"What? No!" Joe glanced up at Patrick and sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You've avoided us for almost two months now, man." Two? It had been that long? "It's a long story, okay?" Joe opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off.

"Patrick?" Andy called from the stairs, and Patrick smiled apologetically at Joe before jogging to the staircase, rushing up. "Yeah?" Patrick let out a scared squeal as Andy grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom, blocking the door. "A-Andy...?"   
"Patrick, what is going on? There's blood smeared on the tiles and razors in your cabinent-- you won't talk to anyone and look tired as fuck. Last time I saw that kind of shit happening, it was a month before we found Pete swallowing a bottle of pills." Patrick's eyes widened as he stared at Andy, breaths short and fast as he whispered, "Please don't tell Pete. Or Joe. Please." Andy shook his head, staking a step forward, grabbing Patrick's forearms. He yanked the sleeves up, confusion filling his gaze as he saw the empty wrists. "Where?" Patrick shook his head, tears beginning to run down his face. "Where, Patrick? Where?" Andy's voice cracked at the end, pained gaze boring into Patrick's. "I want to help you, but I can't." Andy finally sighed, eyes clenched shut as if he was preventing tears from falling. "My legs." Patrick rasped quietly, cheeks burning with shame. He directed his gaze towards the ground as Andy stated, "Show me." Patrick's head snapped up as he stared at Andy, eyes wild. "What?"  
"Show them to me. I need to know how bad it is." Patrick shook his head, beginning to shake as Andy reached out towards him. 

He thought of the faceless man reaching towards him, yanking his jeans down, the screaming and tears when nobody came-- and he screamed. Patrick clenched his eyes shut, covered his ears and screamed like he was being murdered, and Andy stumbled backward in shock. He could hear Joe running up the stairs, and shouting, throwing the door open as he arrived. "What the fuck, Hurley?"  
"Patrick, calm down--" Andy choked out, reaching his hand out to lay on Patrick's shaking shoulder. The smaller boy flinched away, eyes filled with fear. "Patrick...?" Joe whispered, taking a step forward, and Patrick fixed him with a unfocused, pained gaze, "No. Nononono..." he whimpered and pushed past them, dashing to his room and locking the door before the others could reach him.

"Call Pete." Andy states, running his fingers through his hair. "What?"  
"Pete. Call him." Andy snapped, and Joe flinched and dialed his number, biting his nails as the phone rang and rang. "C'mon..." Joe whispered, letting out a quiet cheer as Pete picked up. "Joe...? What the fuck--" Andy yanked the phone away, "Pete? It's Andy. Please come to Patrick's house. Now. It's serious." He could hear Pete jumping up and shuffling, probably throwing clothes on. "What happened? Is Patrick okay?" Pete gasped into the phone, and Andy sighed and said nothing. "Fuck-- be there in five."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's a road trip, I've had hours to write, so I'll probably have some days where there's multiple updates, then none at all for like 3 days.


	13. when the flood water comes, it ain't gonna be clear (i will help you swim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The highs and lows.

Within the minutes it took Pete to arrive, Patrick slinked out of his room and downstairs, not even sparing a glance at Joe or Andy. "Patrick," Joe said tentatively, "Why don't you just lay down on the sofa, okay?" Patrick stayed silent and nodded, eyes never meeting theirs as he shoved himself into the farthest corner of the sofa, away from them. As soon as Patrick settled into place, the door began to recieve violent bangs. Patrick jumped and then curled up into a smaller ball, covering his ears. Andy swung the door open, blocking the way so Pete couldn't charge in, guns blazing.  
"Where is he? What the hell happened--"  
"Pete, don't yell, he is scared."  
"Is he okay?" Andy moved over and Pete pushed his way in, gaze flickering about the room before settling on Patrick's shaking form. "Patrick?" The other boy seemed to look up a bit, but quickly curled up again. "I don't want to talk about it." Patrick stated, words muffled. Pete's gaze softened and he walked over, dropping to his knees next to the sofa. He reached out and laid a hand on Patrick's back, causing the other to flinch a bit. "It's okay." Pete murmured, rubbing circles into his back. "Is it really?" Patrick whispered, letting out a raspy laugh. He forced himself up, hair flattened into his face, and Pete gently reached up and pushed it away, wincing when he saw Patrick's expression. He seemed dazed, eyes puffy and face pale, lips torn up from chewing, blood smeared around his mouth a bit. Pete reached for his hand and grabbed it, and Patrick squeezed it and closed his eyes. Pete looked up at Joe and Andy, then nodded his head towards the kitchen. Andy nodded and pulled Joe with him, out of sight. "Patrick?" Pete whispered, rubbing circles into the top of Patrick's hand with his thumb, "Can you stand up?" Patrick nodded, eyes still shut, and stood shakily, swaying a little. "I'm going to pick you up, if that's okay?" Patrick nodded again, rasping out, "My legs hurt." Pete nodded and leaned down a bit so Patrick could wrap his arms around his neck, then he looped his arms under his legs and pulled him up, holding him close. Patrick dug his nails into Pete's upper back a bit, eyes squeezed shut and breaths fast. Pete slowly made his way upstairs, Patrick softly whimpering as he went. "I'm gonna lay you in bed, okay?" Patrick stayed silent and Pete pushed the door open, gently sitting Patrick onto the bed, hand coming up to brush his cheek. Patrick's eyes opened and he made eye contact, embarassed, muttering, "Thanks." Pete nodded and leaned down, tenderly kissing the crown of Patrick's head, before straightening up again and turning to leave. "I'll be back in a bit, 'trick." 

Once downstairs, the first thing Pete said was, "What the hell, guys?" Joe's eyes narrowed as he snapped, "We didn't do anything-- I didn't! Ask Hurley!" Pete fixed Andy with a threatening glare and Andy stared back, not backing down. "He's mutilating his body, Pete, and I yelled at him because I didn't know what else to do." The room seemed to go silent in shock. "He's..." Pete began, eyes filled with pain, "How could he?"  
"He said it was his legs, but fuck-- the blood... He wouldn't let me see how bad it was, he ran." Pete nodded, closing his eyes. He calmly walked over the kitchen table, before shouting "Fuck!" and punching the table as hard as he could. "Pete!" Andy snapped, and Pete let out another roar and punched the table again. He took a couple deep breaths, eyes shut. "I didn't want to put a hole in the wall." Pete stated hoarsely, shaking his hand out. "He's so... so thin. He's too small and tired looking." Joe added, expression a mix of fear and confusion. "I'll go talk to him..." Pete responded, eyebrows knit together.

"Patrick?" He whispered softly, and the blankets shifted a bit, Patrick's pale face peeking out. Pete walked over and sat on the bed next to the lump in the blankets. Patrick pulled himself up a bit and hesitantly laid his head on Pete's thigh. "Shouldn't you be out with your girlfriend or something?" Patrick rasped, and Pete immediately responded, "We broke up. And nothing is as important as you, anyways." Patrick closed his eyes, taking in a shakey gasp. "They told you, huh?"  
"Yeah."  
"I'm sorry."  
"I know, 'trick. I know." Pete stroked Patrick's sweat drenched hair softly, guilt wrenching his heart. "Can I see?" Patrick tensed, before nodding tersely. He sat up and shimmied his pants down to his knees, pausing to prepare himself, before pulling them off completely. He lifted the large hoodie up, pulling the side of his boxers down and Pete found himself looking at blood soaked bandages. "Take them off...?" Pete asked, voice coming out weaker than he expected. Patrick nodded again, letting out whines of pain as he pulled at the bandages, tears burning his eyes. "Oh, Patrick..." Pete whispered, reaching his hand out to gently run a finger down the patch of bloody, mottled skin. Patrick sniffled and rubbed at his face, and Pete was shocked as he wiped his own eyes, realizing he, too, was crying. 

Pete opened his arms and Patrick slumped into them, tears dripping onto Pete's neck. "I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry." Patrick sobbed over and over, and Pete held him tighter and said nothing. Pete shifted and Patrick pulled him closer, gapsing out, "P-Please, don't leave me."  
"I'm not," Pete reassured him softly, "but we need to go downstairs, Andy and Joe are waiting."  
"Did you tell them?" Patrick peered up at him, blue eyes filled with worry. "No, that's your choice. Not mine." Patrick let out a sigh of relief, pulling away to grab his sweats. He stood up to pull them on, and Pete couldn't help but stare at how thin Patrick's legs were. "Patrick... have you been eating?" Pete questioned gently, and Patrick stiffened, before pulling his pants on quickly. "Yes," he said quickly, "let's just go."

Before they could reach the stairwell, Pete grabbed his upper arm. "Let's deal with those cuts, okay?" Patrick flinched once more, nodding slowly, and Pete tugged him into the bathroom. Patrick pulled the sweats to his knees, then tugged his boxers down on his left side. Pete pulled out the first aid kit, grabbing an alcohol pad. He lightly rubbed at the cuts, trying to ignore the noises of pain Patrick was making. He pulled out gauze squares and layered them over, "Patrick, hold these in place, okay?" Patrick nodded and held them in place so Pete could grab the medical tape. Once the gauze was taped down, Pete helped Patrick up and the smaller boy pulled his sweats up, avoiding Pete's gaze. He wet a dark towel and rubbed the blood from Patrick's split lips. Pete, who was used to showering Patrick with affection, felt his heart wrench in the best way as Patrick leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek, pulling away and stating, "Thank you for everything." Pete gave a dopey smile in response, and Patrick smiled back, a geniune, bright smile.

As they walked down the stairs, Patrick's hand grasped at the air next to Pete's, and the older took his hand, feeling Patrick relax a bit. Andy and Joe looked up with nervous gazes as the two arrived, and Joe's gaze dropped to their connected hands, then up to Pete's face, raising an eyebrow. Pete flushed and began to shake his head, but Joe had already directed his attention to Patrick. "You okay, dude?" Patrick nodded, his free hand pulling at the frayed ends of the hoodie. Andy took a step forward and Patrick looked up at him, "I'm sorry I scared you."  
"I'm sorry I scared you." Patrick repeated, offering an apologetic smile. Andy opened his arms and Patrick released Pete's hand, letting Andy pull him into a hug. Joe whooped, going up behind Andy, and wrapped his arms around them both, squeezing tightly, causing the other two to let out soft 'oof!'s. Pete let out a chuckle and walked over, behind Patrick, and wrapped his arms around the others. "You guys..." Patrick called gingerly from the center of the hug, "You guys fucking suck. I'm dying in here." Pete couldn't help the smile splitting his face, hearing Patrick say something so... Patrick-like. "I love you too!" Joe shouted, squeezing the others again. Andy turned and punched Joe's arm, causing the other to let out a squeal. The two began a slap fight, and Patrick shuffled away, next to Pete. He looked up and smiled, and Pete grinned back, trying to push back the worry cutting at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already started the next chapter-- it will hopefully be done tomorrow. Fingers crossed.


	14. boy, you like to play the martyr, but what if i pray a little harder?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys.
> 
> Everyone is going to murder me for this.

Months? About three, now. Maybe three and a half. Could have been longer, but it stopped mattering a long time ago. No matter how long it had been, it was still fresh in his mind.

He had been doing so well, ever since. He thought he was getting better, but thoughts of death plagued him when he closed his eyes, and everyone talked to him a lot less. He had finally ran out of time-- they finally hated him. He saw it coming, but it still hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced when the realization hit him. 

Patrick wondered if Pete had told them all, and they were all hanging out together, laughing at how pathetic he was. What a joke he had become. He hoped Pete had kept his promise. He needed to have faith in someone.

Patrick: Are you busy?  
Pete: out w jen rn  
Pete: y?  
Patrick: Sorry, nevermind! Have fun :)

Another response that left him alone for today. In retrospect, it was better this way than if he was surrounded by his friends.

He heaved himself up off the bathroom floor, and wondered why he always ended up here. Patrick stood on weak legs, feeling faint, and grabbed the bottle of Asprin on the counter, popping about ten more to dull the emotional pain, and the headache from crying so much. It had been a week since they had all gotten together, and so far everyone had been too busy too hang out now, or they were avoiding him. He would avoid himself too. 

Pete was infatuated with another girl, Joe was doing summer school and Andy, well... was doing whatever it is that he does. Nobody had time for him, and he didn't deserve their time anyways. Pete deserved pretty girls hanging off him, not a fat, pale boy who had emotional breakdowns every hour. Joe deserved to have friends in school, not be ridiculed because he was friends with a freak. Andy didn't deserve having to babysit him because he was out of control. 

Patrick let out a groan as his head pounded and poured a few more pills out, ears ringing and head spinning. He took in a weak breath, chest aching with the task, and he flopped down, sitting against the bathroom wall. He wrapped his arms around himself, fingers digging into his sides and moaned in pain. Asprin wouldn't make the vertigo and cramping go away, and at this point Patrick considered banging his head against the counter to knock himself out, if only to be freed from the pain for a moment. He wondered why he kept making so many bad choices, ever since that night. He supposed he was just rotten to the core now, not able to be saved.

He forced himself up again, to reach for the plastic container he had looked to for salvation in the past month, and his hand slipped, sending razors skittering about the floor. He gripped his head and let out a an agonized shout, stumbling backwards, razors biting into his feet. He stumbled and grappled at the wall to gain composure, sliding down to his hands and knees. Blood pooled from his hands and feet, and he stared down at the smeared mess of red, everything doubling and shaking. He staggered over to the toilet, gagging and choking, abdomen cramping as he heaved. Tears poured down his face, lip wobbling as he vomited again, sobs tearing at his throat. He couldn't stop the nausea and the only way to relieve the pressure in his stomach was barfing, at this point.

He let out a pained wheeze, retching once more, vision blurring around the edges. Patrick placed his hand on the toilet seat and forced himself up, tremors running through his body as he flushed the toilet. He leaned down to pick up the razors, swaying more, and giggled as he tripped over his feet and fell to his knees again. His breaths were shallow as he laughed, picking up razors and throwing them into the sink. He stood up, ignoring the mess, and shuffled out of the bathroom, making his way to his room, tripping and landing onto the carpeted floor. Patrick rolled onto his back and began laughing, harder and harder, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. The laughs died down and he wheezed, gazing blanky at the ceiling, inky darkness over taking him.

He woke up with a massive headache and let out a soft whine, rubbing his temples. He squinted at the light filtering through the window, wondering what time it was. He shifted onto his hands and knees, hissing in pain, at the cuts covering his arms and legs. Standing up, Patrick was hit with a wave of nausea, swallowing and taking a deep breath to avoid heaving right then and there. He tore off his sweaty, bloody clothes and crammed them in the trash can, pulling out a gray t-shirt and sweats. He pulled the clothes on, trying to ignore the tugging pain when the clothes hooked on the dried blood covering his wounds. 

Patrick dragged his aching body to the bathroom, staring in shock at the bloody smears. He could only imagine what might have happened if someone saw. He mentally berated himself, before composing himself and going into action.

The boy wet a black towel and wiped the blood away, wetting it again to dab at the blood on his hands and feet. He left out a soft scream as he accidently opened the wounds on his knees, blood beginning to bubble on the surface of his skin. He pulled out the first aid kit and began slapping gauze and tape on the wounds, hoping for the best.

 

He made his way downstairs, everything warping around him, and swung the fridge door open, feeling sick at the sight of food. He begrudgingly grabbed a large carrot and a water bottle, slumping into a chair. Patrick took a large gulp of water, then a tiny bite from the carrot, stomach aching as it filled with liquid. He continued until the carrot was gone and took another swig from the water bottle, chugging the last of it, hoping it would make him less light-headed.

It was ironic, how he had eaten to make himself feel better, only to destroy himself yet again. 

His mom would be gone for three weeks, so he had two weeks left, but it was better to do it sooner. Patrick was slightly grateful his mom was away-- at least she couldn't end up finding his body. He figured everyone would be disappointed and hurt, especially Pete, but it was better than burdening everyone with his existence.

Patrick: Pete?

No response.

Patrick: I'm sorry I'm such a fucking burden. From now on, you won't have to worry about me. Thank you for everything, I love you. 

Still no response. Patrick let out a harsh cackle, opening his messages with other people, saying his goodbyes. He kept the text messages brief, having written them each letters already.

Patrick: I'm sorry I avoided you, thank you for being my friend, Joe. It meant a lot.  
Joe: No problem, dude, what's up?

Patrick: Thank you for caring, it meant the world to me.  
Andy: Patrick? Are you okay??

Patrick took in a deep breath, preparing for the hardest message.

Patrick: Mom? I love you. You were the best parent I could have asked for, and this is not your fault. I'm sorry for being such a burden, and I know it's been hard for you. I hope you can forgive me.

His mom was probably hanging out with family currently, and his heart ached at the thought of how she would react upon finding out. He rubbed his eyes, observing his surroundings. The last time he would see his house.

The event, although not planned, was also not spontaneous. He had thought long and hard about his actions, and how badly he had hurt everyone around him. If he ended it now, he couldn't hurt anyone anymore, and that brought him a sense of relief. Nobody had to hurt anymore. He would pay the price for his actions, and everyoe would be freed.

He walked into the bathroom and began shucking his clothes off, taking one last look at himself in the mirror before grabbing the bottle of asprin. Patrick turned on the bath faucet, filling the tub up, before walking over the mirror again. He tipped the bottle and poured as many as he could into his mouth, choking them back with water. He settled into the bath tub, warm water burning his dirty skin, and he grabbed the razor he had balanced on the edge of the tub. This was it. He grabbed his phone off the floor, and dialed 911. He figured it was better if the police found his body then someone he was close to. "Hello, operator? I live at..." Patrick tilted the razor, watching the light glint off of it as he recited his location, "I am about to kill myself. Please send somebody to collect my body." Patrick stated smoothly, no hesitation. The operator began speaking to him, but he hung up before she could try to convince him to not do it.

Patrick took in a deep breath and pressed the cool metal to his wrist, before closing his eyes and yanking downward, tearing at the veins of his left arm. He let out a scream much like a pained animal, and his eyes went wide, taking in fast gasps of air, before everything seemed to become number and blurred. He took a few more gasping gulps of air, trying to calm the violent shaking of his body. 'You deserve this, you selfish bastard. Dragging everyone down with you into the hole you dug yourself.' He drug the razor down again, the blood warming his arm as it drenched him.

His breaths slowed and became shallower, the blood gushing from the wound. He had done his research-- apsrin thinned the blood, so he would bleed out faster. At the rate in which the blood was escaping his body, he would be dead in a short time. The phone began wailing, making his ears ring, and he limply flopped his right, uninjured arm over the side of the tub to grab it. Pete.

"'llo?"  
"Patrick? Oh god, are you okay? I'm coming over, please don't do anything--"  
"'M sorry, Pete. L...lo...ve y-you.," Patrick slurred, the pills and blood loss kicking in, "tell... m-mom, lo...ve her too. 'S not y-your fault." His arm went limp, dropping the phone onto the ground. 

Tick, tock.

His eyes fluttered shut and, for a moment, he saw Pete, Andy, and Joe, all laughing and smiling, and his face contorted into a pained grin as he thought of his friends. 

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Drip, drip, of blood into the reddening water.

He felt his mom hugging him. He felt Pete holding him, kissing his forehead and wiping the tears away.

Time's up.

Patrick reached out for them, aching with loneliness. He wanted Pete here, with him. He wanted someone here. He never expected to die alone, but maybe this is just what he deserved.

He could faintly hear Pete screaming on the phone as his vision faded into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems awfully rushed and sudden, but it is typically like that-- you hit a low point, even if it's the best day ever. Debating on if the story should end happily or not.


	15. you don't have to say "i love you", to say i love you (all i need is you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you have all waited for. Possibly.

Pete hated hospitals. Always had. Whenever anybody in his family was in the hospital, they tended to not come back, and it stabbed his heart with icy fear as he thought of Patrick. He would pull through, he had to. Pete then thought of Patricia, taking in a sharp breath and yanking his phone from his pocket. He winced as he saw the call log, seeing Patrick listed today, but shook his head and dialed Patrick's mom. "Pete?" Patricia gasped out, voice scratchy, "Where's my son? Oh, god, he texted and I--I'm coming home, but it won't be until late tomorrow--"  
"They're putting him in the Oak Park hospital. They won't tell me anything, but he's alive." He could hear Patricia let out a whimper, before bursting into tears, "Why would he do this? Why didn't I notice? I'm a terrible mother..." She took a deep breath, gaining composure, before stating, "I'll be back late tomorrow. I'll call the hospital and request for you to visit him once they've checked on him, if you want?"  
"Please. I don't want him to be alone." Patricia let out another short sob, "I left him alone, this is all my fault-- I'll tell them to let you visit. Call me with any updates they tell you." She seemed to hesitate, before whispering, "Thank you for watching out for my son. He seems so happy with you around. It means so much to me." 

Patrick woke to sterile white and silence. He could hear steady beeping, and his visiom faded in and out of focus. He felt the tubes running down his throat and nose and began gagging, reaching to pull them out. Someone held his hands down in an attempt to bind them onto the table, and he began thrashing, eyes wide as he pushed at the mass next to him. "Sedation-- patient is becoming aggravated." A clinical, stoic voice sounded, and he noticed others shapes moving around him, reaching for him and he tried to scream, throat feeling like it was tearing. 

Quickly, his body became heavy again as he faded in and out of conciousness, and he couldn't help but compare it to being drugged months ago.

When he awoke again, his body ached, his arms especially. His hands were bound lightly, giving him a bit of give, and he jerked at them cautiously. He heard footsteps and looked up to see a kind-faced, older woman. "You're awake." she stated softly, smiling at him gently. "We had to bind your arms because you were fighting the nurses off and trying to pull the IVs and tubes out. You're lucky to be alive right now, you know that?" He let out a breath, wheezing as his scratchy throat limited his breaths. "No, I'm not." he choked out, voice cracking at the end, and she looked at him with pity, causing his blood to boil in his veins. 

"You have stitches in your left arm, about 20. We managed to pump your stomach before the pills could cause major damage to your liver. You were also severly malnourished, at the point in which you could have gone into cardiac arrest at any moment, which means we had to insert a tube through your nose to feed you. You should have died, but you pulled through." She kept look at him with that saddened expression. He didn't want fucking pity from anyone. 

"We have a visitor for you, too," she said kindly, a smile playing on her face, "a black haired boy out there-- he's been here for hours. He keeps asking about you."  
"Pete?" Patrick asked weakly, and she nodded. "I can send him in, but I have to check in during his visit. We don't know if you still pose a threat to yourself and others." Patrick nodded weakly, closing his eyes. He could hear her footsteps fade away, and he took a deep breath into his ravaged throat, coughing a bit. 

"Patrick?" The boy opened his eyes, wincing as the light flooded his vision again. Pete was standing in the doorway, hair sticking up and eyeliner smudged, eyes red and puffy from crying. Pete dashed over and dropped to his knees at the side of the bed, tears beginning to run down his face once more. His shaking hand reached out and clutched Patrick's, "I... I almost lost you. I was s-so afraid, 'trick. I've never been so scared."  
"I'm sorry." Patrick croaked out, tears beginning to form in his eyes, "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."  
Pete pulled Patrick's hand up as far as it could go with the restraints, kissing his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Patrick. God, I should've been there with you--"  
"'S not your fault, Pete. I'm sorry." Patrick said in a small voice, heart wrenching as his best friend burst into tears again, laying his head on Patrick's pale hand. His shoulders shook, and Patrick had never hated himself more than in this moment, seeing Pete like that. Pete gripped his hand tighter, as if the smaller boy could disappear at any moment.

Finally, Pete lifted his head, face wet and looked up at Patrick, reaching his hand up and resting it on the flushed cheek, hand trembling as he rubbed his thumb on Patrick's too-prominent cheekbone. "They said you nearly died. That you lost so much blood... What would I have done without you?" Patrick closed his eyes, shame flooding him, "You would have been fine. It would have been better." 

"You don't really think that, do you?" Pete asked in a quiet voice, eyes wide as he searched Patrick's expression for any sign of lying. He stood up, fingers tangling into his hair and pulling, "You can't possibly think that! How could you say that?" Pete's voice cracked as he raised his voice, "How can you act like it would be okay? Do you even understand how I felt? How your mom felt? How Joe and Andy felt, when they heard? Joe cried and Andy had to take him home--" Patrick flinched, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears in. "I didn't think--"

"That's the problem, you didn't think!" Pete shouted, tears burning his eyes, voice ragged. "You told me to not pull this shit, and then you turn around and slit your wrists? What the fuck--" The nurse slammed the door open, face drawn into a scowl. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down."  
"Calm down?" Pete shouted, spinning to face her, "How can I? My best friend almost killed himself--"  
"I need you to leave, you're upsetting the patient." Pete looked over his shoulder at Patrick, and his chest ached. He looked so small against the gray, sterile hospital bed, arms tied down and bruised from IVs used to give him blood. His blue eyes were wide and his face was gaunt and pale, tears running down his face as he silently cried. "Patrick?" 

"Please leave, Pete." Patrick whispered, and Pete felt sick with himself once he recognized the tone of voice. Patrick was scared. Of him. He turned back the the nurse, and she held open the door. "I need you to leave until he requests for you to come back. I'm sorry."  
"Patrick, please, I'm sorry--"  
"Sir. Please leave before I call security." Pete's head hung low as he shuffled out of the room, tears dripping from his face onto the floor. He stumbled into the waiting room, vision blurred with salty tears, and curled up into a plastic chair, sobbing again. He pulled at his hair, breathing heavily. Why did he have to fuck up? Patrick trusted him and he abused that trust, and now Patrick couldn't stand having him around. He felt disgusted with himself, thinking again of Patrick's sad, fear filled eyes.

Patrick slammed his head backward onto the itchy bed, tears pouring down his face. The nurse walked over, placing a hand over his. "Don't! D-Don't touch me!" He squealed, jerking at the restraints to avoid her touch. "Sweetie, take deep breaths, calm down--"  
"He hates me!" Patrick screamed, letting out a howl of grief as he cried harder, "He hates me, hates me, hates me!" His breathing quickened, causing him to gasp and gag as he cried. "Listen, I need you to breathe, you're going to make yourself sick."  
"Shut up! Shut up, please, I can't. I can't-- can't breathe." He jerked at the restraints, wrists getting rubbed raw as he oulled harder and harder, sobs escalated to near-screams. The tube in his nose limited his breathing, his mouth open and gasping. The nurse kept her composure as she hit the red button, calling for more assistance. "He's a danger to himself, currently. Sedation requested." A few nurses rushed in and he screamed again, pulling away from their hands, "Don't! Don't touch me, I want Pete! Pete!" One of the nurses pulled out a syringe, injected more liquid into his IV. After a moment, his moments became sluggish, limbs limp. "Pete..." He choked out, "Please, get Pete." The nurse shook her head, pulling away as the others filed out of the room. "We can't, hun, he might invoke a negative reaction again."  
"Bullshit!" Patrick spit, words slurred slightly, "Bring him here." The nurse hesitated, but nodded, exiting the room.

"Peter Wentz?" Pete looked up, wiping his eyes, "Yes?"  
"He asked for you again, but he may not be completely aware. We had to sedate him again, but it wasn't as strong as before." She led him to the room again, pushing open the door. "If you cause another breakdown, we may have to restrict your visitation for a bit." He felt like vomiting and crying as he looked at his best friend, his Patrick, the person he cared about more than anything. Patrick was looking up at him, eyes dull and taking in gasps of air, nearly drooling. He looked so out of it, and it hurt more when he realized Patrick acted out because of him. This was his fault, again.

"Patrick, Patrick, I'm so so sorry." Pete whimpered, walking to the bed. Patrick slowly looked up at him, and smiled, a soft, small smile that felt like a knife stabbing Pete's heart. "I-I still love you. Please do--don't leave..." Patrick stuttered out, eyes wide and childlike. Pete let out a noise of pain, leaning down to clutch Patrick's trembling hand, "I love you too, 'trick." 

The nurse walked in quietly behind him, her face tired and somber. "It should wear off soon, it's a short-time effect." Pete nodded, eyes never leaving Patrick's. "I'm going to unbind his hands, seeing as you're here in case he attempts to hurt himself. I'll be directly outside if anything goes wrong, but I feel like you deserve a bit of time with him after that... event." She walked over and gently unbound his right arm, then circled around to release the left. "Make sure he doesn't jar his left arm, the stitches could come out." 

The nurse clacked away, and Patrick hesitantly reached his right hand upward, interlacing their fingers. "I'm sorry." he rapsed out, eyes wet. "I know, me too. I didn't mean it, I was just scared."  
"Me too." Patrick responded, squeezing Pete's hand. "I'm not as scared, with you here." Patrick whispered, eyes less foggy as the drugs wore off. Pete smiled softly, "I'm glad you feel like that."

Pete pulled a chair over, hand never leaving Patrick's, and sat on his knees on top of the chair so he could lean over Patrick's small form. He released his hand, instead reaching up to beush Patrick's hair back, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "I love you, so much." Pete muttered against Patrick's mussy hair, face pressed into it. Patrick reached up and tentatively tugged on Pete's collar, causing the other to look down at him. He reached his right hand up, tremors running through it. "They said if I injured the right wrist, I would've bled out," he stated softly, eyes never leaving Pete's, "but, when you called, I dropped the razor and answered the phone, so I never did it." Patrick offered a watery smile, stray tears running down his face. 

Pete felt his own eyes water as he leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. "I don't know what I would've done, without you. You keep me grounded." Pete mumbled closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself, opening them again. He stared into Patrick's eyes, hand coming up to stroke Patrick's cheek, and smiled, "You're still here, though. I think that counts for something." Pete took in a sharp breath, mustering up courage, "Patrick?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Can I..." Pete gulped, eyes darting over Patrick's slightly confused expression, "Would it be okay, if I kissed you, right now?" Patrick's eyes widened, but he offered a small smile, cheeks flushed, and nodded. Pete leaned down, breath fanning across Patrick's lips as he muttered, "I've wanted to do this ever since we first met."

He brushed their lips together, and Patrick's right arm came up to wrap around his neck, fingers buried into Pete's hair, arm trembling from the effort. Pete kept running his thumb along Patrick's warm cheek, and he pulled away, smile splitting his face. Patrick gave a small smile in response and leaned up again, requesting another kiss, and Pete swooped down to capture his lips in a soft kiss again. 

"Is this okay?" Pete whispered, pulling away slightly so his lips were barely touching Patrick's, and the other nodded slowly, "I trust you, Pete." They kissed again, and Pete ran his tongue along Patrick's bottom lip, the other gasping and opening his mouth so his own tongue could meet Pete's. It was slow, and meant more to Pete than any other kiss he had ever had in his entire life. 

When Pete pulled away, Patrick looked slightly concerned. "What about Jen?" Pete shook his head, "We broke up. She yelled at me for leaving her to come see you, and I realized she was a bitch," Pete grinned down at him, cheeks warm, "and I had someone better waiting for me. I was willing to take the chance." Patrick reached his arms up and Pete leaned down, hugging Patrick close. The smaller boy gripped Pete's shirt, tears running down his face and onto Pete's neck. 

"Thank you," Patrick blubbered out, "thank you, for being here." Pete nodded, holding Patrick's trembling form. He pulled away and nudged Patrick over, causing the other boy to scooch over a bit. Being mindful of the tubes and cords, Pete crawled into the bed, wrapping himself around Patrick, tangling their legs together. He buried his face into Patrick's disheveled locks and smiled when Patrick buried his face into his chest, letting out a quiet gasp of relief as he clutched the front of Pete's t-shirt. "Thank you, thank you..." Patrick chanted, and Pete wrapped his arms around the other tighter, pulling him closer, answering back, "It's okay, you're okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great deal of thanks to my best friend who helped me out majorly with this chapter.
> 
> It's not over yet, probably! Maybe?


	16. if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update, but an update!

When Patricia arrived, she immediately rushed through the hospital halls, panic fluttering in her chest. The nurses said Patrick was doing better than when he arrived, but a mother always wants to check. She quietly shuffled into the room, smiling softly at the sight before her. 

Pete had managed to cram himself in the small bed, curled around her son, face buried in his coppery hair. Patrick had his hands resting on Pete's chest, occasionally squeezing at his shirt, head tucked under Pete's chin. She smiled and pulled out her phone, taking a picture, before making her way to the side of the bed, curling up in the plastic chair sat off to the side. Patricia allowed her eyes to flutter shut and decided to nap until her son awoke, not wanting to disturb him-- she had noticed his lack of sleep earlier, unknowing of his troubles, and wanted him to sleep peacefully now that he was safe. 

 

\--

When Patrick woke, the first thing he saw was a chest, and he jolted a bit, pushing at the solid mass before looking up, seeing Pete's slumbering features. He relaxed a bit, resting his head on the other's chest, reaching down to rest his hand on Pete's. Pete squeezed his hand and Patrick looked up, surprised, eyes meeting warm brown ones. "Hey." Pete said quietly, voice rough with sleep. Patrick blushed and didn't reply, instead dropping his head to Pete's chest again. Pete peered over Patrick's shoulder and noticed the slumped form in the chair, slowly sitting up, arm wrapped around Patrick's middle to pull him up along with him. Patrick let out a confused noise, glancing up at Pete, and Pete nodded in the direction of the chairs. Patrick's eyes widened and he turned quickly, staring at his mother who was still resting in the chairs. Patrick turned back to Pete, pressing his face to the other's chest. 

"Do you want me to wake her?" Pete asked, hand rubbing circles into Patrick's back. The smaller nodded, pulling away from Pete so he could slide off the bed. He walked over to Patricia, hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her slightly. She let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering, before she stiffened and her eyes snapped open, looking up at Pete. Her gaze left Pete and rested on Patrick, who had buried himself under the blankets silently. "Patrick?" She called softly, slowly standing. He looked up at her, before dropping his gaze back to his hands. "Mom..."

Patricia pushed past Pete, stopping next to the bed. She reached out and gripped Patrick's bony hand, eyes welling up with tears. "Ricky... baby, I was so worried. So scared." Patricia let out a strangled noise, dropping her head. "M-Mom..." Patrick whimpered, and Pete felt the need to turn away, sensing that this was a private moment. "Mommy-- I'm..." Patricia shook her head and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around Patrick's shaking shoulders. Patricia began whispering comforting words into her son's ear, rubbing her hand up and down his back as he sobbed. Pete silently backed away, exiting the room.

\--

When he returned, Patricia was wiping her eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to Patrick's forehead. She turned to Pete and smiled shakily, opening her arms. Pete stepped forward and enveloped the woman in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Thank you so much. Thank you." Patricia pulled away, wiping away more tears. "You're family, Pete." Pete offered a wide smile, pulling her into a hug again. "I need to speak to you outside, if that's okay." Patricia stated, and Pete nodded. She turned to Patrick and he nodded, laying back on the bed.

"Pete, I need to know now if you're willing to help with my son." Pete was shocked at the blunt statement, eyebrows raised. "He's fragile, you must understand. And he told me about the whole... kissing thing." Pete flinched, expecting the worst. "I don't mind if you and my son are... involved. I saw this coming, honestly. But I need to know that you understand what you're getting into. I don't want him to get hurt more." Pete stayed silent for a moment, planning out what he was about to say and hoping Patricia didn't ban him from ever seeing her son again. "Ms. Stump, I love your son more than anything. He's saved my life more times than I can count, and I want to do the same for him. I'm in love with him." Patricia seemed to study his expression for a moment and determined he was being genuine. "Pete..." Pete looked away, tense, and waited for the yelling or disapproval. Instead, he felt a warm hand grip his upper arm, and he met Patricia's eyes. "Don't call me Ms. Stump-- it's Patricia." She gave a smile and Pete felt his heart soar happily as he returned the gesture.

The two turned and retreated back into Patrick's room, the small boy looking up at them tiredly. A nurse had slipped into the room and continued to speak quietly with Patrick. Patrick nodded to her and clenched his eyes shut, and the nurse turned to them, offering a stiff smile, before exiting. Patrick looked down at his hands and began to twiddle his fingers, face blank. Pete and Patricia stood on either side of the bed, concerned. Pete was the first to speak. "'trick?" Patrick continued to look at his fingers, before lifting a hand to run it along the bandages covering his arm. Patrick took in a deep breath before quietly stating, "They want me to go to therapy. And a mental hospital. They said I'm still dangerous to myself." Patrick's hands began to shake and he clasped them together to steady them. "They said I am clinically depressed, and I need to take pills for it." Pete reached down and reasted a hand over Patrick's, "I have to take pills for my disorders too-- it's okay."  
"Uhm... that's not all. The doctor... I'm anorexic, and bullimic-- he probably told you that... I don't think I'm sick, like that. And, uh, he thinks I need to stay at the mental hospital. For months, maybe. To see someone who can help me." Patrick's eyes filled with shame as he looked up at his mom, who had tears brimming in her eyes, "M--Mom? Can me and Pete have a moment?" Patricia narrowed her eyes at Pete, a silent warning, before nodding, wiping her eyes, "I should go and eat... Dale wants to meet with me anyways. You should eat too, Pete." Pete nodded but stayed in place, and Patricia patted his back, "Take care of my son," and exited. 

Pete sat on the small hospital bed, hand clasped with Patrick's. "I'm scared." Patrick said in a small voice, "They're doing bloodwork because of my condition..." Pete looked over at him, eyebrows knit together. "Pete, I was raped. What if-- if I have some fucking... STD? What then?" Pete brought his free hand up to caress Patrick's cheek. "I don't care. People can live long, healthy lives with STDs, and most have permanent fixes." Patrick leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. "I don't want to see a therapist. I want..." Patrick sighed loudly. "I don't know what I want, but not this." Pete leaned down and kissed his forehead, turning to face him completely. "I'll be here every step of the way. I see therapists too. It's hard, but it really helps. I promise."

Patrick opened his eyes and glanced up at Pete, giving a tiny smile, "Aren't we just an odd pair of people? I'm all fucked up, and--"  
"You are not 'fucked up'," Pete interjects, anger lacing his voice, "you're trying your best. Things won't be fixed overnight."  
"Does it make me a monster to wish that it would have happened to someone else?" Pete stiffened, eyes wide with surprise. Patrick had never once wished violence on others seriously, no matter how bitchy and angry he was. Patrick, noticing his expression, pulled away from his touch. "I know, I'm a disgusting m-monster... I'm sorry. W-What's wrong with me? I just wish, so bad that it wasn't my problem, a-and I c-can't help it..." Patrick brought a hand up to cover his mouth as he began to sob again. "No, Patrick, you're not..." 

Patrick shook his head, laying back onto the bed, tears leaking down his face. "I understand, y'know... if you don't w-want to be with me. Just please-- don't hate me. D-Don't leave me. You're nearly a-all I h.. have." Patrick's weak frame was wracked with sobs again, and Pete leaned down, gently scooping up the other and pulling him close, slowly to avoid pulling at the tubes connected to Patrick. "I love you." Pete stated, cupping Patrick's cheeks with both hands. "I love you, and this won't change that. You're just... you're sick, Patrick. You're sick and you need help, and that's okay." Patrick shook his head. "I-I'm not sick, Pete. I'm broken. Sick would mean... sick means you can fix it."  
"You are not broken, Patrick. And we can fix it-- the hospital will help you start eating again, and--"  
"I don't want to eat. I don't even want to... to breathe. Or live."

Pete stared, wide-eyed, bile rising to his throat. Patrick was a happy person. He wanted everyone to be happy and was strong, stronger than Pete. A rock that held Pete in place. This wasn't fucking fair. "No, no... don't say that shit." Patrick flinched and Pete continued to run his thumbs along Patrick's too-pronounced cheek bones. "I need you." Pete brushed their lips together, barely a peck, and Patrick let out a choked sigh. "I'm trying. F-For you, and my mom, for Joe and Andy."  
"I know, baby. That's all I ask for you to do." 

Speaking of Joe and Andy... Pete removed his hand from Patrick's cheek and reached into his back pocket, checking his phone. Numerous new messages. He leaned away from Patrick completely to respond.

Joe: Is he okay???  
Joe: Please answer  
Joe: He didnt look good  
Pete: hes better  
Pete: you should come see him  
Joe: Does he want to see me?

Pete looked up at Patrick, who was watching him curiously as he typed. "Joe wants to see you." Patrick stayed silent, and Pete repressed a sigh, checking his messages with Andy.

Andy: Joe is freaking out.  
Andy: Is Patrick okay? He looked so sick...  
Andy: Me and Joe want to try and see him again.  
Pete: ill ask him.

Pete grabbed Patrick's hand. "They want to see you. They care about you."  
Patrick seemed to be lost in thought, and nodded to show he was listening.  
"I... I want to see them too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter SHOULD be longer...


	17. going nowhere fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to make up for my absence.
> 
> Featuring Andy and Joe because I love them tons.

When Pete had informed Joe and Andy that Patrick wanted them to visit, he was answered with enthusiasm. Joe, albeit nervous, wanted to see his friend, insisting that he would keep his cool. Andy agreed to look after Joe just in case the younger freaked out again, and was also excited to see Patrick.

Joe: Are we still good  
Pete: his mom is abt to leave so yes

Patricia, whom had decided to visit daily alongside Pete, had been in the room for the past 5 hours, and she had finally decided to go home to eat and shower, etc. "You boys deserve some alone time with him, anyways," Patricia had insisted when Pete told her she didn't have to leave, "Joe and Andy haven't gotten the chance to see him. I don't want to take up their time, they deserve to see him too." Patricia walked over to Patrick, whispering to him in a low voice before pressing a kiss to his forehead, brushing his hair back. Patrick looked up with a weak smile and nodded to her, and she took it as her cue to leave. Patricia patted Pete's back as she passed by, and he smiled at her.

Pete strode over and stood next to Patrick, and the smaller tugged on his sleeve. 

"The doctor told my mom that they want to move me to the mental hospital in a week. I don't even want to go..." Pete reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers, bringing their joined hands up to kiss Patrick's knuckles. "You have to, 'trick. I know you don't want to, but we need to make sure you're going to be okay."

A knock sounded from the thick door, and Pete released Patrick's hands, trudging over. He opened his arms to hug Joe and Andy, only to be greeted by a nurse with a food tray on her cart. She gave him a brisk wave before pushing past, walking over to Patrick and trying to help him sit up. Pete rushed over and took the job as his own, gently shifting his boyfriend (?) up, and the nurse nodded in thanks, placing the tray down on the small table laid across Patrick's lap. The younger boy looked down at the food with contempt, frowning. 

"You need to eat, hun. We don't want to have to put the nutrition tube back, huh?" 

Patrick flinched and glared up at the nurse, and Pete rested a hand on his shoulder. "You really do need to eat." Patrick sighed and began stabbing at the food, and Pete pulled the nurse to the side. 

"What do I do?"  
"Watch him. Make sure he eats as much as he can-- he needs to. He's already extremely weak. Once he can eat the meals consistently for a week, we can decide if we send him to a specialized hopsital or home."

The nurse wandered away to check on other patients, and Pete returned to his spot at Patrick's bedside. Patrick was glaring at his food as if it would diappear from sheer willpower and anger, Pete sighed and rested a finger under his chin, lifting Patrick's gaze to him. 

"Hey, baby. You need to eat." Patrick pulled away and shook his head tensely. "I can't."  
"You're sick."  
"I'm not sick for not eating. Eating makes me sick-- I can't help it." Pete sat on the hospital bed, wrapping an arm around Patrick's shoulders. 

"Eat half. Just half, please." Patrick sighed, nodding sullenly, before slowly lifting food to his mouth. With each bite was a minute pause of chewing and gagging, but eventually the plate was nearly clean. Patrick's eyes were squeezed shut, face wet with tears. "You did so good, 'trick." Patrick shook his head and Pete layed a kiss on the crown of his head, using his arm to pull Patrick to him.

"When will Joe and Andy be here?"

Pete kissed Patrick's forehead again, opening his phone.

Pete: where r u  
Joe: Down the street  
Pete: were rdy

"Your texting is atrocious." Patrick teased, looking up at Pete with a mischevious glint in his eye, and Pete gave a goofy grin in response.  
"You're just mad I text Joe more than you." Patrick gave a giggle, and Pete's heart soared. He leaned down and pecked Patrick's lips, pride swelling in his chest. Patrick was doing better than before, and that was a good start.

The nurse pushed the door open and ignored then both, simply grabbing the food tray laying at the foot of the bed and marching away. 

"Thank you." Patrick squeaked out, and she paused at the door. "You're welcome, hun. Feel better."

There was knocking at the door a few minutes after, and Patrick seemed to stiffen. Pete shushed him and stood, answering the knocking by swinging the door open. He opened his arms, and this time Joe stepped forward and hugged him, followed by Andy.

"Be gentle, okay? He's doing better but..." Andy rested a hand on Pete's shoulder, offering a grim smile. "We got it, Pete." 

"Patrick? Guess who's here?"  
"Oh boy, I wonder." Patrick stated dryly, but offered a shy smile anyways. Joe rushed over and Patrick flinched back, leaning away from him. Joe froze, hurt in his eyes. "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry-- I was just so worried, and..." Patrick reached out, gently patting Joe's arm, pulling him from his ramblings.

"It's nice to see you, Joe. Dork." Joe hesitantly opened his arms and Patrick mirrored the the gesture, the two gripping eachother tightly. 

"I was really worried!" Joe whispered, squeezing Patrick, "Andy too." Patrick rubbed circles into his back, smiling faintly, before he felt guilt weigh in his heart. "I'm really sorry."  
"Don't be." Joe pulled away, resting the back of his hand against Patrick's cheek, frowning slightly. "You look sick, do you feel alright?"

Andy nudged Joe with his elbow, sending a warning glare, before quietly asking, "Can I have a moment with him? Alone?" Pete seemed to tense and opened his mouth to refuse, but Joe hooked arms with him and dragged him out the door, sensing the tension in the air.

Andy settled on the side of the bed, turned to the side, and took in Patrick's appearance. "I'm so sorry, Patrick. That day... if I would have noticed sooner, I could have helped." Andy looked away, rubbing at his face, and Patrick could see his shoulders begin to shake. The strawberry blond lifted a hand and gently rubbed Andy's back as he began to cry silently. "You're one of my best friends, kid. You have so much to do still." Andy rasped out, before quickly turning back to the younger and pulling him into a firm hug. 

Patrick wrapped his arms around Andy, burying his face in the crook of the other's neck, eyes closed. "I'm afraid of what's next to come." Patrick admitted, and Andy pulled away. 

"We all are. We just pretend we're fearless to ignore how scared we really are."

Andy rested his hands on Patrick's boney shoulders, mouth down turned, and squeezed, wincing at the feeling of protruding bones. "You haven't been eating, have you?" Patrick looked down at his hands, suddenly very interested in the blanket covering him. "It doesn't matter. I'm in the hospital now, they make me eat."

Andy reached for Patrick's trembling hand, and the other jerked away, eyes alight with fear. "Please, don't touch me."  
"I didn't mean to--"  
"I know, Andy. This is hard for me, though."  
The drummer sighed, then muttered about getting the others. Patrick watched him leave with a hollow feeling in his chest, guilt eating him up. He made Andy sad. 

That's all he seemed to do, lately. Make people upset.


	18. PSA thing

I will be remaking this story.

It's hella low quality and I totally lost my motivation for it halfway through, so I'll most likely be re-writing it on an alternate pseud.

Alt. pseud for the remake will be trickytea. Thanks for sticking with me this long.


End file.
